


Korteks-Zeta 10

by Klei



Series: Unhealthy Things Taste Better, Anyway [2]
Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Established Relationship, Incest, M/M, Masochism, Sexual Humor, Video Game Mechanics, Virtual Reality
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2018-12-15 13:21:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 52,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11806821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Klei/pseuds/Klei
Summary: Eager to escape the stress of studying for finals, Morty is more than happy to take a break to play an alien virtual reality game with his grandfather and explore their newly formed relationship.  As with everything Rick does, however, there's always something to turn what should be a fairly straightforward and fun activity into complete chaos.  Worse still, there are some all-too-familiar faces on the server acting as blissfully ignorant cockblocks.





	1. The "Virtual Rick-Ality" Joke Was Already Taken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE NOTE: This story takes place after the events of Split Up. However, it is not (or at least should not be) mandatory to have read that one previously to understand what's going on here. Anything that happened there that's relevant to this story has been briefly recapped where necessary.

"College?" said Rick, gawking. "Morty, why- What the hell are you worried about that for?"

Morty idly pushed around the cereal in his bowl with his spoon. It was a quiet morning in the Smith- err, well, the Sanchez household, actually. Even though it had been over a year since the divorce, Morty couldn't get used to his mother's reversion to her maiden name. It was just plain weird to hear her co-workers refer to her as 'Ms. Sanchez,' and Rick certainly wasn't helping matters with his not-so-subtle suggestions that his grandchildren do the same.

In any case, the table was sparsely set that morning. Beth was spending the week attending some big conference about the state of equine care in America, and Summer had long since gone off to college in another state, leaving Rick and Morty home alone to take care of themselves. It was only two days in, and things had already begun going south. Dirty laundry and unwashed dishes had accumulated all over the house that Morty found himself too stressed and overwhelmed by finals to even consider cleaning up, preferring instead to curl up in his room and pray for the sweet embrace of death. Rick, on the other hand, had instead begun work on some strange servant cyborg clone thing that Morty was absolutely certain was taking him longer to build than the chores would have taken to complete were he to do them himself.

"I just don't know what I'm gonna do," said Morty hopelessly. "The only applications that didn't get rejected straight away were from crappy diploma mills. Not even the community colleges would take me, Rick! They-they all just take one look at my grades and attendance record and trash it! And-and at this rate, I might not even get my high school diploma!"

"Morty. _Morty._ Relax," said Rick, pointing at him with his spoon. "You're taking this way too seriously. I mean, what were you even planning on studying in college? There are only a handful of degrees that are actually going to guarantee you a job, and I think we can both agree that you aren't cut out for any of them."

"You just don't understand, Rick!" said Morty, burying his face in his hands. "You're a genius! You could probably sleep and drink your way to a doctorate!"

"Yeah, probably, if I wanted to waste years of my life and money on a shitty piece of paper," said Rick, taking another bite of Strawberry Smiggles and grimacing. "Only a handful of Ricks were dumb or insecure enough to get doctorates, and they're all either complete assholes or total freaks. One of them is absolutely _obsessed_ with that one movie; you know, the time travel one with the kid who kind of looks like you."

"Y-you mean _Back to the Future?"_

"Yeah, that!" said Rick, staring hollowly down at the table as though he were experiencing some traumatic flashback. "Stay away from that guy, Morty. Dude's super weird. Makes his Morty wear this tacky jacket and insists that everyone call him 'Doc.' Don't even get me started on his preferred method of so-called problem solving."

"That's beside the point, Rick!" said Morty, shaking his head. "Even my dad has a degree! Wh-what am I gonna do for a living? Work at McDonalds making McNuggets? And-and I swear to God, Rick, if you say _anything_ about Szechuan sauce-"

"Wouldn't dream of it, Morty. You know how I feel about reusing old bits," said Rick. "But anyway, I dunno if you should be using your dad as an example of the importance of college. Last I checked, he was barely scraping by. The only reason he's not in trouble for skipping out on child support is 'cause your mom doesn't report it."

"Y-yeah. I guess you're right," said Morty, his lip trembling. Of course. Rick was _always_ right. "I'm-I'm fucked either way, aren't I?" It felt like the whole world was crashing down on his shoulders, crushing him under the weight of not only his high school finals, but the miserable reality that he had no future beyond complete poverty. How could he even hope to secure a minimum wage position when he didn't even have any job experience? Tears welled up in his eyes. "I don't have anything to offer anyone! I'm gonna be homeless on the streets, Rick!"

"Morty. Morty, _get a grip,"_ said Rick, reaching across the table to whack Morty over the head with his spoon. "All the things we've done together in an entire _multiverse_ full of possibilities, and you still can't conceive a living beyond some shitty nine-to-five desk job on this dump of a planet?"

"You said it yourself, Rick; I'm as dumb as they come!" sniffled Morty. "It's always you making the plans and calling the shots! I'm-I'm just along for the ride."

Rick rubbed his temples, looking almost physically pained by the sound of Morty's whimpers of self-pity. "Morty, just last month I watched you take out an entire platoon of venomous snake people with a plasma rifle. You-you single-handedly negotiated peace between two rival planets just so we could appease a third party and get the last ingredient for the multiverse's greatest pancakes. Was school going to teach you that, Morty?"

"N-no, but-"

"But nothing," said Rick. "There's nothing school can teach you that you can't learn on your own for free. Fuck the system, Morty. All it does is hold people like us back."

"Us?" said Morty, drying his eyes with a napkin. What was Rick talking about? He was a freaking genius; a straight-A student if there ever was one. He'd probably taught himself Calculus while the rest of his classmates were struggling to figure out basic fractions.

Rick finished off his cereal, chugged the milk from the bowl until it was empty, then pushed it off to the side. "You know what, Morty? You're done studying. We're gonna do something _fun_ together."

Morty's cheeks turned red. It had only been a couple of weeks since he and his grandfather had become a 'thing,' and almost nothing had happened between them in the time since. While Rick had no problem with the concept of dating his consenting 17-year-old grandson, it wasn't the sort of thing either of them were too keen on sharing with the rest of their family, making it too risky to engage in anything beyond their usual interactions at home. With how often they went out on adventures hundreds of millions of lightyears from Earth, it wouldn't have been such a huge limitation, but Beth had expressly forbidden any more adventures until the end of finals. Quite frankly, even if she hadn't, Morty still would have been too busy studying to even consider trying to have a little 'fun' with Rick, even while she was away.

He knew he had to decline. It was the responsible thing to do. And yet, there was a part of him that hoped Rick would push him into it anyway, the same way he gleefully pulled Morty from class to go hunt down whatever bizarre MacGuffin he'd set his sights on.

"Aww, geez, Rick, I don't think I really have the energy for that right now. I mean, I-I-I'm kinda tired, ya' know?"

"Get your mind out of the gutter, Morty, I'm talking about video games," clarified Rick.

Morty's shoulders drooped slightly. He knew he oughtn't have been so disappointed, and yet…

"I-I-I don't have time for Blips and Chitz, either, Rick, especially if it's gonna end up like last time when we were stuck there overnight 'cause you got all obsessed with beating some random kid's _Fashion Friends_ score. Y-you made me spend three hours perfecting my half-cross tent stitch!" said Morty. He could still feel the sting where the needle-like controller had repeatedly pricked his fingertips.

"Okay, first of all, that was a _continental_ tent stich, not a half-cross," said Rick very seriously, only to shake his head and gesture towards the garage. "More importantly, this isn't some arcade game, Morty. It's- I mean, I was saving it for your eighteenth birthday in a few weeks, but I'm pretty sure you're gonna stress yourself into a heart attack before then if you don't take a break." Aww, he _did_ care. "Do you know how inconvenient that would be for me? Destroying the Citadel voided my voucher for a replacement Morty, Morty!"

Well, it had been heartwarming while it lasted, anyway. Morty bit his tongue to keep himself from smiling as Rick continued to rant about the absurd prices they charged at Morty Mart for new versions of him, determined to continue looking annoyed even as Rick's callous comment about his supposed replaceability had him squirming with arousal.

Rick stood up and motioned for Morty to follow him. Unable to contain his curiosity, Morty quickly gulped down what remained of his breakfast and hurried after his grandfather. Together, they exited the kitchen to the garage, where dozens of Rick's latest science projects lined the dusty old shelves. Rick leaned down and began rifling through one of the many boxes scattered about the room, tossing random bits and baubles over his shoulder without much of a care for what they were. Morty did his best to catch some of the more fragile or just plain dangerous-looking objects before they hit the ground, setting them gently on the table and hoping nothing exploded.

"This is it!" said Rick, reaching into the box to pull out…

…a smaller, but still rather sizable unmarked brown box.

He handed it to Morty, who gave him a somewhat disappointed look. "Th-this is my birthday present?" It looked like it had just been delivered; the address (down to their planet and solar system) was still pasted to the top.

"Well, I would have _wrapped_ it, Morty, but I didn't think I'd be giving it to you for another two and a half months," said Rick. "Now let's get back to the living room and open this sucker up!"

Upon reaching the living room, Morty sat down on the sofa beside Rick and began tearing open the delivery box to pull out the next, actually-labeled-like-something-you-would-see-in-the-store box inside that. There were two of them, identical in shape, size, and color. Both were covered in text from a letter system Morty was unfamiliar with. What he _could_ understand, however, were the pictures of fancy electronic headbands on each one. Another image showed a Pripudlian wearing the device, followed by one of the same Pripudlian in some fantasy environment.

"Is-is this a virtual reality thing?" guessed Morty. "Like the Vive?"

Rick took one of the boxes, grinning with anticipation. "Not even close. Comparing this baby to the Vive is like comparing a smartphone to two cups attached by a string. One of them is a tacky-ass pair of goggles that'll have you tripping over your own furniture. This is a Korteks-Zeta 10, the latest in Pripudlian gaming tech. The-the shovelware for this thing makes our triple-A titles look like 16-bit garbage."

"I dunno, Rick," said Morty. "I mean, it sounds great, and all, but what about my test?"

"You've gotta be kidding," said Rick. "I-I-I told you not to worry about that stupid test, Morty; it's a waste of time and effort that could be better spent on literally anything else." Morty opened his mouth to object, but Rick continued: "But fine, since it's such a _big freaking deal_ to you, this thing alters your perception of time. In these virtual reality systems, you can experience an entire _lifetime_ in just a couple of minutes, Morty."

"Oh. Neat," said Morty, opening up the box to pull out the device inside. It was admittedly a bit of a subdued reaction to something that would have the vast majority of humans tripping over themselves with excitement, but in any case, if that were really true, he didn't have to worry about losing too much study time. "Did-did you get any games for it?"

"Nope, I just bought two gaming consoles without getting anything to actually play on them. What did I tell you about asking stupid questions, Morty?" said Rick, putting on his own headband and waving a card in front of a little sensor on the side. He passed a matching card to Morty, who donned the headband and copied the action. "Get ready; this is a super highly-anticipated launch title, _Echoes of Fantasy 6._ Don't mind the name, Morty. It's-it's freaking word salad, I know, but the reviews on this shit are nines and tens across the board. This franchise is the fucking _Elder Scrolls_ of the Dimtrop quadrant."

Rick settled himself into a comfortable-looking position on the sofa. Morty figured he ought to do the same, still feeling a bit unsure about the whole thing, but eager to have an escape from the stresses of reality.

"So, uh, what kind of a game is this?" said Morty. Knowing Rick, there was bound to be some horrible catch. "This isn't gonna be one of those things where if you die in the game, you die in real life, is it?"

Rick reached forward and hit a switch on Morty's headband.

"Wait, aren't you gonna-"

Morty's eyes rolled upwards as he collapsed into unconsciousness.

* * *

 

"-deny thAAAAAAAAUGH!" he screamed as he realized he was currently floating in a black void, incapable of telling up from down. He could feel his own body, but he couldn't see it, and the sensation was quickly sending him into a panic. "RICK!"

As he flailed about in a blind panic, he noticed that little white lines appeared to be extending out from his neck to form a paper-white, cartoony torso approximately in the shape of his body. His legs, which had been running in place in the air, touched gently down on some kind of surface, which appeared to explode out of the location his foot landed on to form a starry floor.

Morty brought his hands up to his face, marveling at how strange they looked, like an untextured CGI model. Nonetheless, they moved perfectly in sync with his intended motions, feeling as much like a part of him as his actual body did.

 _"Welcome to the Korteks-Zeta 10,"_ said a warm, cutesy voice too childish to discern a sex from. Morty turned his head in the direction of the source to find an adorably-designed floating robot that looked to be a rabbit with little wings and massive, shimmering eyes. A mirror rose from the floor in front of Morty, and he did his best not to freak out upon seeing his blank, colorless face reflected in it. Notably, he was completely nude, his genitalia uncensored. _"My name is Zeta, and I will be your personal menu assistant!"_

"Is-is that really necessary?" said Morty. 'Zeta' was staring a little too closely at his body for comfort, and he quickly placed his hands over his exposed crotch.

_"Please take a moment to create your avatar. This will be your default form across various games. Your current form has been synced to the dimensions of your real body. While you are free to change your shape as you see fit, bear in mind that changing forms can be disorienting. By using this device, you agree that the Korteks corporation is not liable for any injuries sustained as a result of any accidents that may occur as a result of bodily unfamiliarity upon logout."_

Well, at least they hadn't made him skip over a lengthy Terms of Service agreement. Morty took another look at the mirror and touched a finger to the glass. All at once, color spread across his body from where he had touched, until the body in the mirror looked almost identical to his body in reality.

 _"Customize your body,"_ said Zeta, flitting happily about, and a flat panel with a color wheel extended from the side of the mirror like a hidden panel. On the other side, a table materialized with several tools sitting atop it, including brushes, a spray can, and a paint bucket. A panel covered in labeled buttons appeared on a pedestal that rose out of the ground to his right, each labeled with various options to change his proportions and species. _"Decorate yourself in the mirror, or download designs made by other users!"_

Morty pressed his finger to the blue section of the color wheel. The color of the ink on the tools changed with it. Curious, he picked up a small paintbrush, which prompted his body in the mirror to adopt an anatomical position for ease of coloration. Arrows appeared on either side to rotate it back and forth. With a mischievous grin, Morty rotated himself around and zoomed in on the area just above his own butt to scrawl down a few choice words, the letters of which he proceeded to outline in a bold black.

He set the pen down, and his form in the mirror began to mirror him again. Morty turned his head and spun about to view the lovely little tramp stamp that had materialized on his avatar to match the one he'd drawn. He opted to ignore the buttons to alter his bodily proportions; being tall wasn't worth the risk of accidentally turning himself into some blob creature, as far as he was concerned.

"Uh, I'm done," he said, looking around for some kind of a 'Finished' button, but the voice command appeared to have done the job.

 _"Wow! How tasteful!"_ said Zeta, and Morty wasn't sure if it was a generic randomly-selected line out of many, or the computer getting sarcastic with him. " _Create an outfit."_

Dozens of white clothing fragments dropped from the dark sky above that seemed to float in the air around him. _"Select a shape, or download designs made by other users!"_

For as much cool stuff filled the air, Morty opted to grab a basic pair of underwear, a t-shirt, pants, and shoes. When the computer asked him to pick out colors and materials, he simply selected whatever seemed closest to what he was used to, making his cotton shirt a bright yellow and his jeans dark blue. He had never been the most fashionable sort, and he wasn't in the mood to deal with Rick making fun of him for trying something new. "Done. Again."

 _"Wow, so unique!"_ said Zeta cheerfully. Morty grimaced. There was no way that wasn't intentional. " _Accessorize!"_

"Done!" said Morty before the boxes of accessories, labeled by category, had even finished loading in. He could always edit later. Right then, he just wanted to play a game with his grandpa.

 _"Congratulations! Are you satisfied with your avatar?"_ asked Zeta, flying in circles around his head.

Morty took a moment to consider that question. Perhaps the tramp stamp had been a little much… "Well, actually-"

_"Excellent! Now traveling to the Korteksland…"_

The mirror and all of the related doo-dads blipped out of existence, and the floor expanded into a lengthy stretch of what looked to be a bustling town beneath a gorgeous blue sky. Aliens of all sorts, most of them in wildly impractical outfits, trundled up and down the street, each with their own personal version of Zeta, the presumed mascot for the system.

 _"Welcome to Korteksland, Morty!"_ said Zeta, and Morty turned around to see a tiny yard behind a pretty picket fence labeled 'Morty's House.' He bit back a bitter laugh. If only it were that easy in real life. _"This is your house! Inside, you can play games, change your avatar, and customize the layout with the rewards you earn from playing!"_

"Yeah, that's cool, and-and it'd be a real shame to just sorta gloss over this whole menu-world when you've clearly put a disproportionate amount of effort into designing it, but, uh, where's my grandpa?" said Morty, glancing around.

Morty jumped and cried out as a pair of hands seized his shoulders from behind.

"Got'cha!" said Rick. Morty breathed a sigh of relief as he turned around to find that his attacker was not, in fact, a jellybean man. Rick, much like him, appeared to have chosen an avatar remarkably similar to what he looked like in real life, albeit with a few minor changes. For one, his thinning hair was ever so slightly fuller (Morty wisely decided not to comment on this), and his lab coat was a little more voluminous, creating a more imposing silhouette. "Honestly, Morty, you're such a-"

_Beeeep!_

"What?" said Morty.

"What do you mean, what?" said Rick. "Oh, right; tell your Zeta to turn off the language filter."

For as entertaining as it sounded to hear nothing but little bleeps every time Rick ran his mouth, Morty politely asked Zeta to turn off the filter, a request it only acceded to after asking him three whole times if he was absolutely, _positively_ sure that it was what he wanted to do.

"Well?" asked Rick. "Did it fucking work?"

Morty laughed. "Yeah, Rick, it sure as shit did."

"Good, 'cause we've got a game to play," said Rick, grabbing Morty by the wrist and all but dragging him off in the direction of the virtual house next to Morty's like he was little more than a toy to be pulled about wherever he pleased.

Morty blushed and smiled at the thought.

"Aww, Rick, I-I kinda wanted to check out _my_ house," said Morty as Rick dragged him through an identical gate labeled 'Rick's House.'

"Y-you-you can play _Barbie Dream House_ on your own time, Morty," said Rick, opening the front door and shoving Morty inside. "You realize that neither of us have even changed them from the default settings yet, right? This house is completely identical in every way. You aren't missing anything."

The house was a little underwhelming, to say the least. Obviously, being in _virtual reality_ gave it a certain, inherent coolness factor, but it was just a single nigh-empty room, barring a door quite conspicuously labeled 'Closet,' and another door beside which was a touchscreen panel embedded in the wall. He imagined there were probably pieces of furniture one could buy or unlock, but in the meantime, it was pretty sparse.

Morty clung to Rick's lab coat as the door clicked shut behind them. Their equally identical Zetas phased right on through, but they were still essentially alone. With finals no longer looming over his head – or at least not quite so closely – he couldn't help but yearn for the contact he'd been denied since that first passionate (well, passionate on his part, anyway) night they'd shared in a shady motel room.

"Since when were you this clingy?" said Rick, batting Morty's hands away and heading to the door by the touchscreen panel. "What are you, a toddler?"

The feelings stirring in Morty's loins were most certainly not those of a toddler, and he was tempted to say as much, but the pair of Zetas floating behind them and watching with those wide, almost creepily-cute eyes kept his mouth firmly shut, releasing Rick's coat and turning his dejected gaze towards the gorgeously-rendered wooden floor.

It wasn't that he wanted Rick to change for him. Rick was Rick, and Morty hadn't fallen in love with his own grandpa with the idea that he'd be anything but. He'd never expected that their relationship would be altered all that drastically after they began dating, but all the same, he'd expected _something._ As it was, the only proof of their newfound, fucked-up romance were the recent, cringe-inducing memories of its formation, in addition to some occasional verbal acknowledgment of what had happened from Rick. He hadn't just imagined it. They were a _couple_ now, weren't they?

Briefly, Morty considered reaching for Rick's hand, only to retract it again. Rick just wasn't an affectionate person, he reasoned. Any attempt at getting all mushy with him would only lead to failure. Instead, he watched quietly as Rick selected a game on the panel and reached for the doorknob.

The door swung open to reveal a small island of grass and flowers floating so high in the sky that the only thing visible beneath it was a layer of clouds. Morty followed Rick through with wide, fascinated eyes. They'd been to plenty of scenic locations on their adventures throughout the universe, but nothing quite so magical as this. A large tree sprouting various fruits grew in the very center of the island. Upon closer inspection, each fruit was labeled with text, but it wasn't anything Morty was capable of reading; he would have asked Rick to teach him, but something told him his grandfather would consider the burden of such a menial task greater than the benefits. In any case, Rick plucked two identical red ones, one of which he handed to Morty.

"Eat up."

Morty gave him a skeptical look, but Rick himself had already bitten into the fruit and vanished before Morty's eyes. Feeling more confident that it wasn't some kind of a cruel trick, he, too, went to take a bite.

He didn't get a chance to really experience the taste; the moment his teeth sank into its flesh, the fruit had disappeared, as had the door back to the virtual house. The tree sank rapidly into the ground, and the floating island expanded in size. Torches of burning blue fire sprung up around the edges, and the sun darted out over the horizon to be replaced by a pair of vibrant moons.

_"Now entering a queue for Hardcore PvP Mode!"_

Morty's jaw dropped as Rick appeared to fade back into existence, and he shot his grandfather an accusing glare.

"Rick," he said slowly. "Wh-what does it mean by _hardcore?"_

Rick reached to take a sip of his flask, only to realize with a look of distaste that it wasn't actually there. "What, did you think we were gonna play Casual PvE like a pair of pussies? We're gonna do the thing like in that-that shitty anime you got all obsessed with a couple years back. You die in the game, Morty, you die in real life."

Morty seized Rick by the lapels of his labcoat. He adored his grandfather, and yes, his complete insanity was part of the reason he was attracted to him in the first place, but _holy shit, WHAT THE HELL?_ Just once, just _once,_ couldn't they just have a good time without risking life and limb for no reason? Wasn't that the _point_ of a video game?

Before he could scream at Rick and demand to know why the fuck he would ever put them in that kind of danger over a video game, the old man had already burst into a fit of laughter.

"Y-you gonna kick my ass, Morty?" he snickered, looking about as threatened by Morty as a wolf would be threatened by a shivering chihuahua. Much as Morty wanted to believe it was misplaced confidence, especially given his advanced age, he'd seen Rick fight enough times to know that it would take a much bigger advantage than simply not having arthritis to take down his grandfather. "I'd like to see you try. Honestly, Morty, who-who the hell would sell a game that kills its audience? No players means no game sales, idiot. Even _you_ should be able to see the flaw in that kind of a business strategy."

Morty relaxed his death-grip on Rick's coat, his hands dropping to his sides as he let out a relieved sigh. "That's not funny, Rick!"

"Humor is relative. Like-like that cat from that cartoon, you know, with the mouse who's always beating him up for the cheese, or whatever. You think _he_ thinks his life is funny, Morty?"

Morty's brow furrowed. "So what _does_ it mean by 'hardcore?' "

"First things first, and that's the rules," said Rick, belching. Morty glanced around as he noticed aliens beginning to fade into existence around them, though he supposed that to them, it looked like it was he and Rick who were fading into being. "This is a survival game. Imagine if a fantasy RPG had sex with that blocky game where you craft shit, and their baby was raised by _The Hunger Games._ When the game starts, you're gonna have about ten minutes to put together a character. We're-we're gonna spawn in a randomly generated floating island about five hundred miles across, and we're gonna live in that world until either the environment kills us, somebody else kills us, or we get bored and quit by killing ourselves."

Okay, that made enough sense. It really _was_ kind of like the fantasy Hunger Games, minus the urgency to actually kill the competition. Morty allowed himself to relax a little.

Only a little, however, because an excited glint had appeared in Rick's eyes. To Morty, that look could only mean one of two things. One, some poor sucker was hosting an open bar without realizing that Rick had been on the guest list. Two, he was about to explain some horrible scheme that would leave Morty injured, traumatized, or both.

"Now, the longer you survive, the more coins you get to unlock cool shit with," said Rick with the enthusiasm and energy of a much younger man. "On PvE, the bonus gets multiplied based on _more_ people staying alive, but on PvP, the bonus goes up by being the last people standing. That's why we're gonna go around and murder everyone else, Morty! It'll just be us! Team Rick and Morty, running around and-and beating the entire server into submission, teabagging the trail of corpses from aliens that don't even know what teabagging _is!"_

"Aww, geez, Rick," said Morty. "C-couldn't we have just played PvE? At least for the first match, I mean. I barely even know how this game works."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Morty, I didn't realize this was Team Rick, Morty, and Dozens of Random Strangers," said Rick. "Look around you; these people are a bunch of losers in way over their heads. Th-th-they've got no idea who they're dealing with, Morty!"

Morty looked around him, but most of the aliens he saw were much tougher-looking than he. Some had massive, bulging muscles. Others were covered in spikes, or had lengthy prehensile tongues. "I-I think we might be the ones in over our heads, Rick."

"Come _on,_ Morty, we face more danger in an hour than these idiots can even hope to imagine in their entire lifetimes," said Rick, looking around with a dismissive wave of his hand. "There's absolutely nobody here I would consider even remotely a threat."

"Hey! You! Human!" said a semi-familiar voice.

Rick's eyes narrowed as a Gromflomite began dashing towards them, arms waving wildly above his head as he did so. For a moment, Morty wondered if perhaps he was a relative of one of the many that had fallen victim to the bloody path he and Rick carved across the universe on a day trip to the ice cream store. Alas, it was much, _much_ worse.

"Oh-oh _shit,"_ he cursed under his breath, turning his gaze to Rick.

It was too late. The Gromflomite had already reached them, and bounced excitedly up and down where he stood.

"Wow, fancy meeting you here! You remember me, right?" said the Gromflomite to Morty. He had no mouth to smile with, but Morty could still see the delight in his compound eyes.

"Who the hell are you?" demanded Rick. Morty swallowed.

"Right, uh, r-remember that time I got a dildo?" he said nervously.

"Oh, you-you-you mean do I remember two weeks ago when I gave you money to get a motel room only to walk in on you whacking it to a synthesized version of my voice?" said Rick with a glare.

Morty sincerely hoped his virtual reality form wasn't capable of blushing even as his face heated up from the memory. "The point is, uh, he was the guy who sold it to me."

"Woah, you masturbated to your _grandpa?"_ said the Gromflomite, appearing uncertain of just how he ought to take that information.

"It's-it's-it's not what you think!" began Morty as Rick once again tried and failed to grab for the flask that wasn't there. "I- Hey, wait, how do you know he's my grandpa?"

"ProAUGHbably because he has two eyes and keeps up with the local news, Morty," said Rick as the Gromflomite awkwardly averted eye contact. "I know this might come as a shock to you, but we're pretty well-known throughout Federation space. Well," he added with a smirk, "former Federation space, anyway."

Morty pressed his hands to his cheeks. "Y-you acted like you didn't even expect me to have even heard of Rick before!"

"Yeah, well, I didn't really wanna startle a terrorist's right-hand man, especially one with a gun," said the Gromflomite. "Like I said before, though, no hard feelings! I mean, yeah, Gromflomite society might have collapsed, but my student debts are gone! I'd call that a fair trade."

"Right-hand man?" The embarrassment faded as Morty considered his words. He was considered Rick's 'right-hand man,' huh? Not a human shield. Not a disposable henchman. _Right-hand man._ He couldn't contain a bout of giddy laughter.

"Great. That's gonna go right to his head. Thanks a lot, dildo-face," said Rick, scowling. "See, Morty? This guy went to college, and now he works in a crappy sex shop. It's not even a _good_ sex shop! What did I tell you?"

"Hey, I like my job!" said the Gromflomite, looking hurt. "And besides, at least I'm not a pedophile!"

It was Morty's turn to take offense. "My grandpa isn't a pedophile!"

"Yeah, it's actually pederasty," Rick corrected with a shrug. "Don't worry, it's a common misconception. Plenty of idiots make it."

"I-I'm almost eighteen!" added Morty. "And anyway, I was the one who came onto him, not the other way around!"

"Morty, Morty, Morty," sighed Rick. "Remind me again why you feel the need to justify us to an insect who peddles anal beads for a living?"

Morty twiddled his thumbs. He supposed he should have known better than to expect that Rick would care about the opinions of a random stranger. Still, it hurt to know that he'd been the one to put Rick in that kind of a position. He'd been the one to initiate things, yes, but he hadn't really thought about the fact that other people wouldn't necessarily see it that way, understandably so. Normal people didn't fall in love with their grandparents without copious child grooming.

"And the rest of your family is just totally cool with this?" said the Gromflomite.

"I-I don't- It doesn't matter what they think of it! The-the rest of our family isn't here right now!" snapped Morty, wrapping his arms possessively around Rick's waist. His grandfather raised one half of his unibrow, but otherwise remained silent. "I don't care that Rick is way older than me, or-or that his dick was in my grandma, or anything like that! He's my boyfriend now, and if you don't like it, you-you can just fuck off!"

Rick whistled. "Wow, MoAUGHrty," he belched. "You tell him."

The Gromflomite coughed awkwardly. "Well, I mean, as long as you're both into it, I guess."

Morty huffed. He'd kind of hoped that Rick would reciprocate with a kiss, or something, or at least a quick ass-grope, but all he got was an extremely brief return of the hug. It didn't make any sense! Morty had seen Rick with other people before. He was a handsy guy. What was holding him back? Frustrated, Morty began leaning in for a kiss when he heard a voice that filled him with far more dread than the Gromflomite.

"Morty!" said an all-too-familiar voice excitedly from behind him, one that had both he and Rick rapidly breaking apart with matching looks of shock.

 _"Jerry?"_ said Rick, blown away. It was indeed Morty's father rendered before them, a big old grin on his face that hopefully meant he hadn't actually heard any of Morty's spiel. "How in the _fuck_ did _you_ get here?"

Jerry's smile fell as he regarded Rick with a cold stare. "Oh, what, because it's such a huge shock that I can get fancy sci-fi doohickeys, too, if I want them?"

"Yeah, actually," admitted Morty, reluctant to make eye contact with his father when his head had been filled with fantasies of Rick's hands all over his ass just a moment ago. "How _did_ you get here, dad?"

"Jerry, wait up!" said a much more upbeat version of Rick's voice. Morty pursed his lips and tried not to snicker at his grandfather's irritated eye-twitch as his bowlcut-donning doofus of an alternate self jogged up to Jerry's side. He greeted them with a nervous bucktoothed smile. "Oh! Hey, you guys! Wow, can you believe we all ended up on the same server? Wh-wh-what are the odds, right?"

"Pretty high, actually, considering these games try to put people together based on proximity, and we're the only four people in the entire fucking universe playing from Earth," said Rick, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Oh, wow!" said the Gromflomite, clasping his segmented fingers together as he turned his attention back and forth between the Ricks of C137 and J19ζ7. "You two look almost identical! Are you twins, or something?"

"Actually-" began Doofus Rick, but C137 Rick was quick to interrupt.

"Oh, what, so all humans look alike to you? Is that it?" said Rick.

Morty could only sigh as the Gromflomite pulled at his own antennae in horror.

"Oh my God, I swear I didn't mean it that way! I am so, _so_ sorry!"

"Yeah, w-well, maybe you should have thought about that before you said it!" said C137 Rick.

"For the love of- He's not actually offended," said Jerry, even as C137 Rick shot him an angry look. "They _do_ look alike. Rick here – the _nice_ Rick – is just this asshole from a different dimension. Isn't that right?"

"Y-you've got it, Jerry!" said Doofus Rick, patting him on the shoulder.

"Oh, geez," said C137 Rick, exasperated. "What the hell are you even doing here, shit-for-breath? You know this is hardcore mode, right? It's-it's-it's not the sort of place for a couple pussies to braid each other's hair to Kumbaya."

Doofus Rick averted his gaze. "Oh, well, you know, I just, I wanted to-"

"You don't have to justify yourself to _him,_ Rick," said Jerry, placing a comforting hand on Doofus Rick's shoulder as he stared C137 Rick down with a hard expression. "Not that it's any of your business, but we're here to prove a point to the rest of the _wife-stealing_ _asshole_ versions of you who wouldn't quit making fun of him for not wanting to go on the kinds of adventures that _kill_ people! And since _this_ Rick didn't want to bother _his_ Morty while he was studying for finals, I volunteered to come with him, instead."

"Oh, wow, Jerry, you sure showed me," said C137 Rick sarcastically. "I mean, proving how ballsy you are by _playing a_ _video game?_ That sure is impressive! What a great role model for Morty to look up to."

"Please leave me out of this," said Morty, inwardly groaning.

"You know what?" said Jerry. "We'll show you, Rick! Rick, Morty and I are all gonna team up to kick your ass!"

Morty cringed. For all his faults, he _did_ love his dad, and he felt a little bad abandoning him when they saw each other so infrequently in real life, but he'd sort of been hoping for some virtual reality makeout sessions with Rick. That, and he was pretty sure Doofus Rick and his dad were going to be dead within the fortnight.

Not that he had much choice in the matter, anyway. In response to Jerry's assertion, Rick grabbed Morty by the upper arm in much the same way movie villains tended to hold the damsel in distress. Morty swallowed and turned his hips to conceal the virtual bulge that was rapidly forming in his pants as a result of this blatant assertion of authority, like he was little more than a piece of property his grandfather refused to share.

 _Oh, FUCK yes,_ thought Morty.

"Oh, FUCK no!" said C137 Rick, yanking Morty towards him as though he might have actually been tempted to join Jerry. "Nobody comes between a Rick and his Morty, especially not a deadbeat like you."

"Are _you_ seriously calling _me_ a deadbeat father?" said Jerry, aghast. "And what does that make you, then? A _mega_ deadbeat?"

"At-at-at least _I_ paid _child support!"_

"Oh, yeah, in _space money!_ Because the local grocery store is sure to accept bizbugs, or fizwhips, or whatever other nonsense-word currency you decided to share with your family!"

"Those coins were solid platinum, Jerry! Not my fault that no one thought to get them looked at!"

"You could have left a _note!"_

"H-hey, there's a countdown timer up there," said Morty, tugging at Rick's labcoat and pointing up into the sky in a desperate attempt to change the subject. There was indeed a massive, sparkling countdown timer overhead, and though Morty's capacity to read most alien text was fairly limited, he had, in fact, memorized the digits 0 through 9 in a handful of the most common ones. Fortunately, the vast majority of number systems throughout the universe were also base 10, which made things much easier. "I-it looks like we've only got two minutes left before the game starts."

"Aww, this was just getting interesting, too," sighed the Gromflomite. "If only I had some flarpcorn."

"Buzz off, testicle-face," growled Rick.

 _"Remember,"_ said a disembodied voice from above, _"if you want to spawn in the same location as someone else, form a party with them by making physical contact and saying 'Create Team' followed by your group name of choice!"_

Rick, who was still holding Morty by the arm, immediately did just that: "Create Team Rick and Morty!"

A much smaller disembodied voice that felt like a whisper in Morty's ear proceeded to ask, _"Would you like to join Team Rick and Morty? Please answer yes or no."_

"Uh, yes!" said Morty, much to his father's distress. "Sorry, dad."

"Oh, I see how it is," said Jerry, clearly straining to hide the hurt in his voice. "Great. Great! My own son is too embarrassed to be seen with me!"

Morty rubbed his head. "Aww, geez, dad, it's not like that!"

"Y-yeah, Jerry, Morty loves you!" said Doofus Rick reassuringly. "It's-it's normal for kids his age to not want to spend time with their parents. That doesn't say anything about you as a father."

Jerry sniffled and turned away, taking Doofus Rick's hand in the process. "Well, fine! We'll just make our own team! Create Team Jerick!"

"Yes!" said Doofus Rick, presumably in response to the invite message. "Wow, Jerry, that's such a cool idea, combining our names like that!"

"More like Team Jerkoff," snickered C137 Rick, making mock-masturbatory gestures. "Get it? It's 'cause my daughter left you!"

Jerry gave C137 Rick double middle fingers as he turned about to march off to the other side of the island. Doofus Rick quickly and politely bade them farewell before jogging after him.

"Finally," said Rick. "I thought they'd never leave. Anyway, Morty, once that timer ticks down to zero, we're gonna be in character creation. Since your options are randomized each time, we can't do a whole lot of coordination, but if you can, try to put something together that specializes in healing, or at least has regenerative properties. Your sensibilities are too delicate for reliable mass-murder, so I'd rather have you be useful to me in some other capacity."

"It's just a video game, though, right? I mean, even I don't have a problem killing people if it's not real," said Morty.

"You're underestimating the capAUGHcity of these games. These people aren't just gonna flash red and lose health points, it's-"

"Oh no, I'm not in a team!" said the Gromflomite in a moment of panicked realization. "Oh man, oh man! Can I join yours?"

"Not a chance, pal," said Rick, belching. "Didn't you hear the name?"

"But I'll die on my own!" cried the Gromflomite.

"Not our problem," said Rick, patting Morty on the back.

"Aww, please?" said the Gromflomite. "I promise I won't tell that Jerry guy that you're fucking his son!"

"Go right ahead," said Rick, much to Morty's horror. "You think I care what that dipshit knows? I mean, what's he gonna do? Tell the cops? Like they're gonna believe some deadbeat dad who's already known to resent me! Even if they investigate, it's not like Morty's gonna testify against me, and the rest of my family would take my word over his any day."

"Rick!" said Morty, panicked. Even if Rick was right about the believability of Jerry's claims, the knowledge of what was happening, _especially_ if he was completely helpless to 'save' his son, would _destroy_ his dad. "W-w-we can't let my dad know! That's not something- I don't think I can deal with that! Just let him join!"

"No can do, Morty," said Rick. "There are just too many reoccurring side characters for comfort. I don't like callbacks; the character gimmicks are never as funny the second time around, and it makes it a pain in the ass for newcomers to understand what's going on with the plot."

Morty could only stare at his grandfather in slack-jawed confusion. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Yeah, you're right, Morty, I don't think this guy ever even had a gimmick," said Rick, gesturing to the Gromflomite. "He's more of a plot device than person.  I don't even think he has a name."

"Actually, my name is-"

"Nobody gives a shit."

"Aww."

_"The match will begin in ten. Nine. Eight."_

"Just invite the fucking Gromflomite, Rick!" said Morty.

With a scowl, Rick reached out his hand to take the Gromflomite's.

"Send invite," he muttered. "But only begrudgingly."

_"You have been begrudgingly invited to Team Rick and Morty! Would you like to-"_

"Yes!" interrupted the Gromflomite, just as the timer ticked down to zero and everything faded to white.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for making it to the end of the chapter! Please feel more than welcome to leave your honest thoughts in the comments; I sincerely appreciate constructive criticism and genuinely wish to improve my writing. Will I enjoy hearing about what I did wrong? No. No, I will not. But you know what? Kids don't like eating vegetables, but you feed it to them anyway, because it's GOOD for them. Feed me some metaphorical vegetables by telling me your real thoughts! I won't bite. Probably.


	2. None of This Driftwood is Curvy Enough to Masturbate To

"Rick?" called Morty as the world reformed around him, loading a new floating island into existence beneath his feet. It was smaller than the hub island had been, but larger than the menu. At the center was a large willow tree with the face of an elderly woman. In front of her was a cauldron of boiling water over an open flame, which was itself surrounded by a series of small, circular tables.

 _"I am the Elder Willow, guardian of all new life on the islands,"_ said the tree. _"Ordinary mortals cannot hope to survive these lands, so I have enlisted the aid of the phoenixes to gather ingredients for a potion that will strengthen you for the trials ahead. Behold!"_

As she spoke, several perfectly-synchronized phoenixes with flaming read feathers dove down from the cloud layer above to deposit various objects that had been stored in their talons upon the tables.

 _"Choose wisely, mortal,"_ said the tree. _"You may deposit as many ingredients as you would like into the cauldron of my boiling tears, but-"_

"Wait, those are your _tears?"_ said Morty, recoiling. "Gross!"

The tree seemed unamused by his outburst, and smacked him with one of her long branches. Morty cried out in pain.

…Wait, pain? He could feel pain in this game? No, surely he'd just imagined it.

 _"Do not interrupt the Elder Willow while she yet speaks!"_ bellowed the tree. " _Ahem, as I was saying, these tears will amplify the effects of the ingredients such that they will last for the duration of your mortal life on this plane. However, as a consequence, it must be properly balanced with good and bad energy. For every boon you grant yourself, a penalty must also be paid! You-"_

"So is this just a character creation thing where I have to pick buffs and debuffs for game balance?" said Morty.

Again, the tree smacked him, and again, Morty yelped from the sting. Shit, that definitely hadn't been imagined. That was one hundred percent perfectly simulated pain.

 _"AHEM!"_ said the tree again. _"You will not be permitted to leave this island until you have consumed a balanced potion, for otherwise your body will disintegrate the moment you leave my protective aura. Remember, the items the phoenixes have found for you may not be the same as those of other players, nor those you might have encountered in previous lives here. You have ten minutes to brew your potion. Choose wisely."_

Morty rubbed the spot where he'd been struck. "Is, uh, is this supposed to hurt?"

_"Well, obviously. You ARE in hardcore mode, after all."_

Morty cursed under his breath. Fucking _Rick._ Of course he would pick the mode where you actually felt real pain. "So if another player stabs me-"

 _"You'll feel every bit of it,"_ said the tree, a little too eagerly. _"Oh, I'm sorry, did I interrupt you? How RUDE of me."_

"Alright, alright, I get it, sorry," grumbled Morty. "Geez."

He began taking a look at the various potion ingredients on the many tables around the cauldron. The first was a strange-looking eyeball. With a callousness borne of many an adventure, he easily picked it up with his bare hands to give it a closer look. It was wet and a little squishy, but mostly held its shape.  As he scrutinized the eye, a translucent menu popped up in front of it.

' _Wexlian Vampire Bat Eye,'_ it read. ' _Though the Wexlian vampire bat can see in all but the darkest of environments, its eye will induce total blindness in those who consume it. (Worth 100 debuff points.)'_

Morty quickly set the object back down. That sounded like enough debuff points to grant him plenty of buffs, but he was pretty sure Rick would kick his ass if he had to spend the whole match being led around. He moved on to the next object.

_'Angel Feather: An angel molts only once every hundred years. Their feathers have the power to grant wings to those who consume them, enabling them to fly. (Worth 50 buff points.)'_

That definitely seemed both fun and powerful, but Morty could practically _hear_ his grandfather's voice preemptively teasing him for even considering it. He turned to the third table, upon which a glass vial of something gooey sat.

_'Dryad's Sap: The daughters of the Elder Willow are of a sturdy constitution. They have an impressive capacity for magic and regeneration, but are bound to their tree. (Worth 0 points.)'_

"Zero points?" said Morty. Was that some kind of a bug?

 _"It's a naturally balanced item,"_ said the Elder Willow. _"The downsides counteract the positives."_

Morty hummed and plucked the sap vial from the table. Rick _had_ mentioned that he wanted him to pick something with regenerative powers.

Ultimately, the assortment he went with included the Dryad's Sap for regeneration, in addition to Dire Rabbit Feet and Shade's Fangs for speed and stealth, respectively. It was a weird rogue-mage hybrid sort of thing, which was a little outside his comfort zone of warriors and tanks, but something told him that being able to run and hide was going to be a useful skill when Rick was his ally. That, and if he was going to be suffering through real pain, he wanted to avoid face-to-face encounters as much as possible. To balance out those buffs, he also took a Runt's Arm that lowered his base strength, as well as a Wisp's Heart that would make physical stats take longer to level up.

"Okay, I think this is good," said Morty as he dumped the last of those items into the boiling tears. "So, uh, now what?"

The flame beneath the brew ceased, and a tree-vine wrapped around a glass bottle dipped itself down into concoction. When the bottle was full, it held it out for Morty, who took hesitated before taking it.

"Do you have any oven mitts? I mean, that was just boiling a second ago."

"It's a game," said the tree flatly. "It's fine."

Morty nodded and took the bottle, only to cry out and drop it the moment the hot glass touched his hand. The bottle disappeared as it shattered all over the ground, and the tree cackled as it retrieved a new one. The pain of the burn faded almost immediately, leaving no marks, but Morty still rubbed his palm and glared daggers at the willow.

"Y-you're a real asshole," said Morty.

"Welcome to hardcore mode, bitch," said the tree. A bucket of ice-filled water manifested itself beside the cauldron, which the tree dipped the new bottle of potion in for a good few moments before passing it to Morty once more.

With a resigned sigh, Morty pinched his nose, closed his eyes, and downed the potion. Darkness clouded his vision, and he felt overwhelmed by inexplicable exhaustion, as though something were forcing his brain to sleep.

* * *

 

When Morty woke up again, he found himself splayed out on his back. His bare body felt like it was partially sunken into something dry and gritty. As he slowly sat up and rubbed his eyes, it became apparent that he had been laying in the sand. More specifically, he was laying _naked_ in the sand in front of what appeared to be a small pond. Immediately, his legs snapped together for cover.

"Fuck," breathed Rick. Morty turned to face his grandfather, who was sitting up beside him and rubbing his head like he was nursing a killer hangover. "How much did I dr- right, never mind. That tree's a bitch."

"Tell me about it," said Morty. Initially, his eyes began to wander down to Rick's exposed crotch, but he quickly noticed that the avatar his grandfather was inhabiting within the game was not quite the same as the one he'd had outside of it. His lean muscles had bulked up some, and the dorsal sections of his body were covered in some thick blue fur. "Woah, wh-what happened to you?"

Rick, too, appeared to be eyeing his own body with interest. "Well, I'm _assuming_ it's because I took the Troll Blood and Ogre Spit perks, but your guess is at least twenty percent as good as mine. Check it out, Morty! This is the min-maxed body of a virtual god!"

Morty _did_ check it out, all the way down to the extra-thick patch of pubic hair sprouting from the base of his grandfather's exposed genitals. Something told him that he would have absolutely no difficulty getting used to that. "Uh-huh."

"Woah, which perks did you take?" said Rick, giving him a strange look. "You're looking a little green."

Morty stood up and walked over to the pond, making every possible effort to cover his genitalia and buttocks with his hands as he did so. He stared down into the crystal-clear water, and his reflection stared back. It wasn't as good a picture as one might get from a proper mirror or camera, but it was enough to know that Rick hadn't been kidding. He _was_ tinted green. Perhaps more notably, his hair appeared to be made out of freaking leaves. "Woah."

"Does anyone want to know which perks I picked?" said the Gromflomite from off to the other side, only to be completely ignored.

"Morty," said Rick, eyes narrowing. Morty winced. He knew that look. That was the 'you fucked up and disappointed me' look. God damn it. What had he done wrong THIS time? "Tell me you didn't take Dryad's Sap."

Shit.

"I, uh, I didn't take Dryad's Sap?"

"Oh my God," groaned Rick through a facepalm. "Did you even read the description?"

"O-of course I read the description! I'm not that stupid!"

"Well, either you didn't read it, or you picked it even after reading it, so yes, Morty, you are, in fact, that stupid," said Rick, standing up to brush the sand off of his excessively hairy ass. "Damn it, now we have to find the equally stupid plant you're bound to. Hey! Bug-brain!"

The Gromflomite bounced excitedly up and down. "What-"

"Go see if you can scrape something useful out of the pond," ordered Rick. "Morty, go find your dumb plant; it shouldn't be far, and it should feel like an extension of yourself, so you'll know right away when you see it."

Morty frowned. Now that Rick mentioned it, it _did_ feel like there was another part of him that was strangely disconnected from his body.  He couldn't see it, but it was just  _there,_ somewhere.  With a little focus, he found that he could tell where it was in relation to his body, in the same way one could sense the location of their limbs even with their eyes closed. Morty strode up off the small beach and knelt down in front of a tiny sapling about halfway to his knee.

"Found it," said Morty.

"Good, now dig it out," said Rick, who'd taken to climbing up something that looked a little like a palm tree, but with some distinct differences in color and trunk shape. He didn't appear to have any problems scaling it with his carefully-crafted character, nor did he have any issues ripping the leaves from the top. "Just try not to break it and kill yourself by mistake."

Morty gingerly dug around the edges of the sapling and carefully eased it out of its spot in the ground. He felt strangely vulnerable as its thin, wiry roots were exposed to the air, as though his whole body had grown weaker as a result. "W-woah. I'm-I'm kind of dizzy, Rick."

"Serves you right for being a moron," said Rick, landing back in the sand with a gentle _thud._ As Morty approached, he snatched the uprooted sapling out of his shaky hands. It was a strange sensation, to be sure; virtual reality or not, it felt as though Rick were holding his very life in his hands. Morty wasn't sure if the sudden weakness in his knees was from being uprooted or aroused. "Two minutes in, and you're already messing things up. Couldn't even make a fucking character right!"

"What's wrong?" asked Morty. Were he not on the verge of falling over from inexplicable exhaustion, he probably would have sounded more annoyed, but instead, his voice was hoarse and breathy. "I-I got regeneration like you told me to."

"What you _got_ was a metaphorical _anchor,"_ said Rick flatly. In order to continue using his hands, he took the sapling into his sharp yellow teeth, an action that prompted Morty to wince from the sensation of being pinched between giant blades. Rick shredded the leaves with his clawlike nails and, with a level of dexterity beyond most men his age, he began weaving the pieces of palm leaves together. Morty watched with fascination as, in mere minutes, the leaf strips began to take the shape of a very small basket about twice the size of a coffee mug.

"Basket weaving?" said Morty in disbelief. On some level, it made sense that Rick would know how to do such a thing, given that he seemed to know _everything,_ but it still seemed a little… "Don't you think that sort of stuff is gay, or whatever?"

"Said by the little shit who begged to suck my dick without a condom," said Rick, scooping soil into the basket.

"I-I-I didn't _beg!"_ said Morty, quickly shifting his eyes back and forth to make sure that nobody had been around to hear that. "I just, you know, I-I wanted to make you feel good."

"Oh, yeah, it _definitely_ didn't turn you on, not one bit. That's-that's-that's why you slurped up my jizz like it was fucking ice cream, right?" said Rick. "And also why you're rocking a half-chub right now."

"Geez," breathed Morty, moving both hands to cover his rapidly-swelling cock. Shit. He had to think of something distinctly unsexy! Unfortunately, given his newfound, Rick-like propensity to be able to picture himself having sex with just about anything that moved, that was getting harder and harder to do. Uh, Summer's titties? Yeah. Yeah, that was pretty horrifying to think about. His mom's titties? God, that was just as bad. He could already feel the blood begin racing out of his cock and back into regular circulation. It was good to know that his inexplicable ability to overcome the squick factor of incest was so far limited to Rick, perhaps because he hadn't known him as a child.  What was that called, again?  The Westermarck Effect, right?

As Morty snapped back to reality (err, well, virtual reality, anyway), he noticed that Rick had planted his sapling in the basket like a makeshift pot. The strange discomfort faded as he felt his roots back in the dirt where they belonged.

"If you're done being a useless little bitch, Morty, go water yourself while I put some bags together. There's no hammerspace inventory in this game; we've gotta carry all our shit ourselves."

Morty frowned and hurried off to the pond, using the basket to cover himself. He bent over and set it down, carefully scooping water into the soil while holding the plant between his feet so as to keep it from being knocked over by the waves. He sighed contentedly as the cool water lapped against his toes, the sensation so perfectly simulated that the only reminder that it was all fake was the fact that no real pond could possibly be so pristine.

Despite knowing that there were a couple hundred other players on the server waiting to murder him at the first available opportunity, Morty found himself feeling strangely relaxed. The threat of looming finals seemed a distant memory, and Rick wasn't really chewing him out any more than usual. He took a moment to admire the distant sunrise before taking a closer look at their vast surroundings.

Upon inspection, he noted that their immediate vicinity was a little barren. The pond was in the middle of a clearing, and though it was easy to feel better when he could see everything around him, Morty knew from experience that the open was the worst place to be when one was being hunted by anything with the capacity to strike from a distance.

He hoisted his sapling back up and turned back towards his grandfather, ready to get down to business. Rick was still on his knees in the sand, appearing only half-focused on his work. Beside him was an already-finished leafy tote bag, and he was already at least halfway through the second. "So what's the plan, Rick? Are-are we finding cover, or what?"

"Well, Morty, if you had even a half a brain cell, you'd be absolutely right," said Rick without turning to look at him. "Unfortunately for both of us, your skull is as empty as a domesticated chicken's nest after breakfast. See, the plan was _originally_ to look for a cave, but that's- it's not exactly an option anymore."

"Why not?"

At last, Rick stopped what he was doing to give Morty a hard stare. "You're holding the answer."

Morty looked down at the plant in his hands. "What do you me- oh."

 _Oh,_ indeed. Morty laughed awkwardly as it started to dawn on him what Rick meant. His life force was bound to a plant. Plants couldn't live indoors without UV lights, and even someone as brilliant as his grandfather couldn't possibly get something like that up and running with caveman-levels of technology before it wilted.

"We could just leave it outside," said Morty hopefully.

"We could," said Rick, returning to his weaving. "And then, assuming a rabbit doesn't eat it before it even matures, it'll be immediately obvious to anyone passing by with skills invested in magic or player detection that it's a dryad's tree, at which point they'll either burn it like wasteful idiots or chop it down for some of the most valuable resources in the game. Great plan."

Morty's shoulders drooped. "Aww, man."

"Hey, look what I found!" said the Gromflomite from behind them. "It's- Hey, what's that on your back?"

Morty turned around. "Huh? What do you mean?"

"You've got a thing on your lower back. Is that normal for humans, or…?"

Morty was about to ask him to be a little more specific when Rick let out a choked snort. The color drained from Morty's green face as he became distinctly aware of just what the Gromflomite was referring to.

_The tramp stamp._

"Holy shit," cackled Rick. "Do you get off on embarrassing yourself, or something?"

Morty nearly dropped his sapling as he raced to cover the poorly-thought-out tattoo. Eventually, he settled on pressing his back to one of the nearby palm trees. "N-no!"

"It looks like text, but I can't read your letters," said the Gromflomite. "What's it say?"

"Rick, don't you dare-"

"It-it says 'Grandpa's Boy,' " howled Rick, slamming his fist repeatedly in the sand as he struggled to contain his laughter. "Oh my God, can you imagine if _Jerry_ saw that shit?"

Morty's despairing frown deepened. So much for being relaxed. "Can I change my avatar?"

"Not until the game's over," said Rick, wiping the tears of sheer amusement from his eyes. Just as Morty was about to consider killing himself to force a redo, however, Rick added, "If-if you're that worried, I can put together some leaf-pants real quick, but I'll warn you, it's gonna chafe like a bitch."

"I don't care about chafing! I-I-I can't let my dad see this!" said Morty.

"Okay, okay. Cool your tits," said Rick, finishing off the second bag. At the very least, the situation seemed to have put him in a good mood; he still had a cocky smirk on his wrinkled face as he passed Morty and the Gromflomite the completed pouches. "Here, go make yourselves slightly less useless and look for some shit that might come in handy. Don't worry, I'll take _great_ care of your little morning wood."

For the next several minutes, Morty waded out into the pond with the Gromflomite in search of goodies. Unfortunately, it was a little hard to tell what might be valuable when literally everything was possible to take. The only reminder that it was still a video game was the fact that a little window with item descriptions would pop up whenever Morty went to scrutinize something.

 _'Gargi Shell,'_ read the description for the colorful conical shell Morty had plucked out of the water. _'This uncommon shell is an excellent conductor of magical energy.'_

Morty hummed as he looked over the window. At the top right was a little 'X' to get out of it without turning to look away. Beneath that, however, were a few other icons, one of which had a hammer icon inside of it. As he tapped it with his index finger, the window changed.

 _'Crafting Information,'_ read the menu. _'This item requires at least a level 3 magic altar to use in crafting spells.'_

"Crafting spells?" said Morty. Rick had been crafting things by hand.

"Oh, yeah, well, it _is_ a game," said the Gromflomite, who'd filled his own bag up with what appeared to be straight-up mud. "Most people don't know how to start a fire or make weapons in real life, so even though you _can_ just build stuff with the physics engine, you can also just use crafting spells. It uses up more of the resources than if you just made it yourself, and obviously you can't get as creative when you're picking tools from a set list of premade items, but it's way faster and easier than actually learning how to make crossbows and stuff yourself. Some people like to challenge themselves by avoiding the recipes altogether, and there are a couple of servers that turn them off, but the best players use a combination of both recipes and physics engine-based crafting depending on the situation."

"That makes sense," said Morty, nodding. That would certainly explain how a game that otherwise seemed to require some genuine survival know-how had managed to become popular to the mainstream. "So are they enabled here?"

"Oh, yeah, definitely," said the Gromflomite. "This is a server for people playing to _win._ Not using crafting spells would be suicide!"

"Huh," said Morty, turning his attention back to Rick, who appeared to have just finished making not only a third bag for himself, but also a pair of incredibly ugly pair of banana leaf overall shorts. "So, umm, does that- I mean, are palm leaf bags not a recipe?"

"Oh, I'm pretty sure they are, but we haven't put together a crafting table yet," said the Gromflomite. "Can't cast any crafting spells without a crafting table. Well, except the spell to actually _make_ the crafting table, obviously, but maybe he doesn't want to put one together until we establish a camp. Crafting tables are too heavy to really lug around long-distance, so it's just a waste of wood this early on if you know how to make some basic stuff without them."

Morty hummed. His grandfather knew how to make a hell of a lot more than basic stuff. He was beginning to appreciate what Rick had meant when he said the other aliens had no idea who they were dealing with. Morty supposed he'd gotten so used to formidable armies and interstellar drug lords that it was easy to forget that most people had none of the skills he'd been learning from the age of fourteen.

He grimaced as he sloshed his way back to shore and the sand clung to his wet legs and feet.

"Ready to go, Rick?" asked Morty.

Rick got to his feet, his avatar towering over Morty only slightly more so than he already did in real life. (Alas, Morty had inherited his father's legs instead of his grandfather's tall and lanky ones.)

"Here," he said with an unrepentant snicker as he tossed the ugly overalls at Morty. "In the unlikely event that we happen to meet your dad before he dies, these should cover your shame."

Morty huffed. "It-it was supposed to be sexy."

Rick snorted. "You-you're trying to walk the line between subtle and overt with the wording. Sexiness is go big or go home, Morty."

"So, what, next time I should just write 'Grandpa's Bitch?' "

Morty hadn't expected Rick to provide him with a serious answer to that question, but there he was, thumb pressed to his lips as he appeared to genuinely consider whether or not he was into that.

"This conversation is making me uncomfortably aroused," said the Gromflomite.

"Hey, this is a private discussion, asshole," said Rick scathingly as he swung his own bag over his shoulder and handed Morty the makeshift pot that his sapling still sat in. "You butt out and start walking twenty meters in front of us."

"Twenty meters in front of you?" repeated the Gromflomite. "But why?"

"Well, first of all, it's because I want you twenty meters away from me at all times, and second, I'm not dumb enough to let you out of my sight," said Rick.

"Oh," said the Gromflomite, turning around to do just that. "Wait. Which direction are we going in?"

Rick jerked his thumb off in a direction. Without hesitation, the Gromflomite skipped off like an excited child, never once looking back to see if they were following after him.

Morty sighed.

"We're going in the opposite direction, aren't we?"

"No shit," said Rick, adjusting his shoulder strap and heading off towards some distant mountains looming on the horizon. "What? I-I gave him a bag. What else do you want from me?"

"And-and-and what if he meets my dad?" demanded Morty, storming after Rick with a worried frown. "What if he tells him we're together?"

"Morty, this floating island is more than half the size of Texas. He'll be lucky if he meets _anyone_ before he kicks the bucket, let alone your dad."

Morty gritted his teeth. "Still."

"It'll be _fine,_ Morty, sheesh," said Rick. "Now let's hurry up. If someone was lucky enough to spawn on top of that mountain, we're gonna want to kill them _before_ they get some decent weapons, not after."

"Wait, what? Rick, are we _climbing a mountain?"_

"You're damn right we're climbing a mountain," said Rick. "And not just any mountain, Morty. We're gonna climb the _tallest_ mountain. I-I sure hope your character has a solid constitution."

Morty pursed his lips.

Shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! Thanks so much for sticking around for the next chapter! Oh, and a special thanks to everyone who commented on the first one. Remember, I don't mind criticism! I welcome it wholeheartedly, in fact! Please feel free to leave your 100% real thoughts below. I'm so appreciative of people who care enough about the story to tell me what they think I can improve on!
> 
> In addition, I have a quick little survey I'd like to ask people about update scheduling; would you guys prefer chapters of a consistent length posted whenever it feels done? Or would you prefer that I post whatever I happen to have done on every (or every other) Friday/Saturday/whatever, provided it's at least long enough to be considered a chapter?


	3. Let's Play Mountain Climbing Adventure

"This-this thing chafes like a bitch!"

Morty's complaints were lost on Rick, who'd become quite skilled in the art of tuning out the sound of his grandson's whining. Perhaps he'd grown wise to the fact that his dismissive retorts acted as fuel to the fire in Morty's loins. Not like it mattered, of course; it was a little hard to _get_ hard when he had palm leaves rubbing his genitals raw. Much as he wanted to rip the uncomfortable overalls from his body, the fear of being naked (and of the text on his lower back being exposed to Jerry somehow) kept him from doing so.

Rick, on the other hand, seemed more than happy to continue along _au naturel._ This fact was, without a doubt, the only saving grace of their unpleasant hike. There were hundreds of breathtaking sights to enjoy as they continued their ascent up the forested mountain, but there was only one that Morty was interested in. His eyes trailed up and down his grandfather's lean body, tongue unconsciously licking his lips like he was eyeing a feast fit for a king.

"Ouch! Damn it!" hissed Morty as he stepped on what seemed to be the millionth rock in the past half an hour. The path that they were walking was not a pleasant forest trail; it was thick with trees and replete with peril. Thorny vines seemed to grow over every fifth root he stepped over, and sharp-toothed alien critters were hiding in every gap and crevice.

"I can't tell if you're just too stupid to look where you're stepping, or-or you're just bitching for attention," said Rick, hacking away a throng of vines in their path with his claws.

"It's-it's-it's not like there are a lot of safe spots, Rick!" said Morty. "You know, there's a reason people invented shoes!"

Even from behind, Morty could tell that Rick was rolling his eyes.

"Well, suck it up, 'cause those shorts are the best clothing you're gonna get until we reach the top."

Morty groaned and pressed his sweaty forehead against Rick's back as they walked. "You mean when we get a crafting table?"

"Ooh, yeah, that sounds like fun," said Rick, speeding up so as to get Morty's face out of his back fur. "Why would I want to build stuff with my own two hands when I can use up a bunch of extra material to pick an item off of a predetermined list? Crafting tables are for biAUGHches, Morty." He snorted. "Oh, sorry, guess that means we'll need one for you, after all."

Morty scowled. "Yeah, yeah. Geez, how much further to the top?"

"Do-do I look like fucking _Siri?_ Look up and check for yourself!"

"I can't, there's too many branches and leaves in the way!"

"Well, that's nature for you. Always fucking people over, as- like it knows the only reason people try to preserve it is because living without it is somehow an even bigger pain in the ass. No wonder you decided to become a tree. You-you've got so much in common."

Morty sidled up to Rick and gently elbowed his ribs. "So you can't live without me? Is-is that what you're saying?"

"Oh, shut up, Morty."

Holy shit, he hadn't even denied it! Morty's heart began to beat faster, and he allowed himself to fall back in line behind Rick to hide his blush. It was a good thing, too, because the path was beginning to get narrower. Even the trees were going from thick to sparse.

It wasn't long before they'd hit a dead end. The relatively smooth incline they'd been walking up had become a 60-degree incline that was going to take a little more than two legs to traverse.

"Well, that's inconvenient," said Morty, a not-so-subtle little nod to Rick's capacity to overcome this seemingly impossible hurdle with a few minutes of jury-rigging.  In other words, it was an an effort to appeal to his narcissism and earn some brownie points. "Right, Rick?"

"Wrong," said Rick, grinning. "This is perfect. It'll be a pain in the ass for anyone without flight to make this climb, at least before people start climbing the tech tree. If we can find fresh water at the top without having to dig for it, we've basically already won." He turned around and began stripping vines from the foliage. "I mean, not that we weren't practically guaranteed a win from the beginning, but I had to take your stupidity into account when I was making those calculations. No offense."

"You know adding 'no offense' to the end doesn't make it any less offensive, right?"

"Yep."

Sometimes, Morty couldn't help but wonder what he saw in Rick that made him want to jump his bones like a frog in a graveyard. God knew it wasn't his gentle nature. But then, Rick was still a more caring deity than any other supreme being had been in Morty's life, so maybe it was just low standards.

Rick took the plant in Morty's hands and handed him a stick with an edge sharpened to a point in exchange. "Here, go stand watch while I put this together."

As Morty passed by him to do just that, he felt something that made his heart stop.

_Slap!_

Rick had just smacked his ass. Even with his dick and dignity both chafed to Hell, Morty was half-tempted to whip it out and beat one off right there.

"O-oh geez," he stammered, his cheeks redder than the eternal fire that awaited him after he died. What was he supposed to say after that? 'Thank you?' It was an accurate summation of his feelings, but it felt a little stupid to say it out loud. Instead, he decided to look away. He'd already embarrassed himself enough for the day with his sheer thirst for his grandfather's touch. Rick could read him like a book. Mere eye contact would just open him up to teasing.

Eager to keep precum from dripping down through the nonabsorbent leaves of his overall shorts, Morty threw himself into his task. Since they were sitting at a dead end by a cliff, there was only one way anything could come at them, simultaneously making his job easier and harder. Easier because there was less to watch, and harder because there would be nowhere to run if something _did_ come by.

"So is it just other players we're worried about, here, or-or are there, like, monsters and stuff?"

"Wow. It's-it's about time you asked a remotely intelligent question," said Rick. Morty beamed. Nailed it! "Yeah, there are a ton of dangerous monsters to look out for, but they won't start to spawn until the first night. Otherwise it would just be like that one game where the- you can be murdered by a velociraptor literally the moment you spawn."

"Wait, d-do you mean ARK?"

"Don't get so specific with the names of the things you diss, Morty. It just makes you look bitter," said Rick. "Anyway, we've got until nighttime to put together a defensive perimeter."

Morty nodded. "Got it. Anything else I should know?"

"Oh, lots of things.  Pythagorean theorem, for one."

Another dig at his intelligence. Cute.

"A squared plus B squared equals C squared," said Morty flatly. "I-I did manage to learn a _little_ from school, no thanks to you."

"Law of cosines?"

"Uh," said Morty, a little more hesitantly. "C squared equals A squared plus B squared minus, umm, two times, uh, AB-"

Rick got to his feet. "Times the cosine of the angle across from side C. It's-it's-it's the law of _cosines,_ Morty. It's right there in the name."

Morty exhaled. He was gonna fail finals so hard. "I-I-I don't really wanna talk about math right now, Rick. I thought we were having fun."

Rick belched as he swung about a makeshift grappling device made from a thick rope of woven vines with wooden hooks at the end. "I'm not gonna lie to you, Morty; math for the sake of math is boring as shit. Some test sheet asking you to figure out the length of side A based on the length of side B and the angles in degrees? What-what-what's even the point?" Rick loosed his hand, letting the hook fly upwards, whereupon it latched onto an outcropping of rock. He gave it a firm tug to test for security, then motioned for Morty to come closer. "It's what you can do with math in the real world that's the fun part."

"You mean the virtual world, right? This-this is still a game, isn't it?

"Oh, wow. Here-here I am, the smartest being in the multiverse, trying to _somehow_ relate to my dumb-as-a-brick grandson, and the first thing you think to do is try to-to one-up me on semantics. Nice, Morty. _Real_ nice," said Rick.

It was Morty's turn to roll his eyes. Like Rick wouldn't have done the same thing to him in a freaking heartbeat. "More importantly, Rick, I-I-I took a debuff in strength. I'm already feeling pretty tired from the walk here; I don't know if I can make it up this cliff, especially carrying all this shit."

"You've gotta be shitting me," said Rick, groaning. "Dryad's Sap doesn't require any debuffs! What other perks did you take?"

"Uh, speed and stealth, or something like that," said Morty. "Oh, a-and my physical stats are harder to level up."

"Great. Looks like I have to do everything, as usual," grumbled Rick, picking up a roll of unused vines. "Grab your stupid plant. I'll carry you."

Morty picked his sapling off of the ground. "Can you really do that?"

"I took two different perks that both grant strength bonuses, Morty. I-I could beat ten bears in a wrestling match right now," said Rick, kneeling down so Morty could climb up onto his shoulders, then wrapping some vines around the both of them and tying them securely together. "I've got the brains _and_ the brawn, baby."

Morty huffed as Rick stood up once more. "So what does that make me, then?"

"The useless tagalong."

Rick tied the end of the grappling hook to the ones binding Morty to his waist, then began a gradual ascent up the cliff with the vine rope in hand. He hadn't been exaggerating about the strength buffs. As he made his way up the cliff, secured by vines to his grandfather's back, Morty pressed his cheek against Rick's shoulder and quietly inhaled.

Hm. He didn't really smell quite the same. Morty wasn't sure if it was because of the console being incapable of replicating the scent of the different bacterial compositions of a person's sweat glands, or because he didn't reek of alcohol. Either way, it was disappointing.

As Rick continued upwards, a question began to form.

"So, uh, you're pretty strong right now, huh?" said Morty. "What debuffs did you take, anyway?"

"Just one," said Rick with a grin and a belch. "Remember how I told you that crafting tables were for bitches?"

"Uh, yeah. It-it was only a couple minutes ago. Why?"

"I took a debuff to be completely unable to use any kind of magic, crafting spells included, then dedicated all my perk points to raw physical power and resistance," said Rick.

"Huh," said Morty. "You-you sure it's a good idea to put all your eggs in one basket like that?"

"Nope. But it's- that's what you're here for," said Rick. "You took a magic bonus."

Well, it was good to know his presence wasn't considered completely redundant.

Rick grasped the top of the cliff and hoisted the two of them both up to the next stretch of walkable ground, then pulled up the grappling hook.

"Well, that wasn't so bad," said Morty.

"Of course it wasn't," said Rick, stepping away from the cliff and undoing the vine rope tying Morty to his back. Immediately, Morty dropped to the ground, his tailbone falling squarely on a rock. "I-I-I did all the work."

"Son of a _bitch!"_ said Morty, shakily standing back up and rubbing his bruised behind. When he fantasized about Rick wrecking his ass, that was definitely _not_ what he had in mind. "Uhg, is-is that gonna bruise? Do you bruise in this game, Rick?"

"You have a regeneration perk, stupid. Just-just focus on the injury and will it away."

Morty concentrated on the part of his body feeling pained. An odd sensation welled up inside his chest, and the soreness faded until it was like he'd never fallen at all. "Huh. That-that sure is convenient, huh, Rick?" He turned towards his grandfather, who'd fallen silent. "Rick?"

As his gaze followed Rick's, he understood.

"Huh. That's, uh, that's a pretty big cliff, isn't it?" said Morty, gazing upwards at the next obstacle in their path. "But, uh, it'll make it even harder for people to follow us, right?"

"Morty, shut the fuck up."

* * *

 

Morty wasn't going to lie to himself; there was something oddly satisfying about the sight of his grandfather huffing and wheezing on all fours at the top of the final cliff.

"So, Rick," he said, struggling to suppress a laugh. Laughing wasn't a fantastic idea when the air at their height was so thin, and they had barely had time to get used to it. "How-how-how's that Pythagoreon Theorem doing for you? Is-is it helping?"

"Morty," gasped Rick, sounding positively murderous. "I- hah, hugh, I swear to-" He coughed. "I'm gonna, gonna fucking throw you right back down this fucking cliff if you don't shut your trap."

Morty crouched down in front of him, his sapling tucked in one elbow. "Huh. So, like, if-if you throw me off of this cliff at forty miles per hour, and the-the-the wind is blowing twenty miles an hour in the opposite direction, how far would I go before hitting the ground?"

Rick glowered at him.

"Depends on your size, positioning, weight, and the height of this mountain," he growled. For all his apparent hatred of meaningless problems, he still couldn't seem to resist making it clear how easy they were for him to solve. "But if-if you hate math so much, Morty, we-we could always just apply the _scientific method_ and solve the problem through _experimentation."_

Morty licked his lips as he helped Rick up. "I-if we're doing experiments, I-I-I can- there's this other hypothesis I'd like to test, first."

"Oh, is there, now?" said Rick, eyebrow arched.

Morty grinned, his cheeks a furious pink. This was it. He'd spent the entire trip up the mountain coming up with seductive lines. He would be _irresistible!_ "How-how many licks does it take to-to-to make you unravel?" Morty traced his finger up from Rick's naval to his chest. _"Grandpa?"_

Rick sighed.

"That's not a hypothesis, Morty," said Rick. "That's just a question."

God. Fucking. _Damn it!_

Just as Morty was about ready to get to his knees and demand to find out the answer to his _question,_ hypotheses be damned, fortune saw fit to take his dreams of incestuous blowjobs and not only murder them, but spit on their grave.

"Morty?"

Both Rick and Morty stiffened.

"Oh," said Morty shakily, turning his head to face the source of the sound. "H-hey, dad."

There was no God. Or, rather, if there was one, it existed solely to see Morty squirm, in which case it _was_ perhaps Rick, after all.

Fortunately, Jerry seemed once again to be oblivious to the words that had just been exchanged. Morty was about to ask him how the hell he'd managed to reach the top of a mountain so quickly when he noticed a pair of massive, feathered wings attached to his dad's back. They were far more massive and imposing than the dainty little things Morty had envisioned when he saw the angel feather in character creation. Even the golden glowing halo above his head was rather regal and impressive-looking, creating the appearance of a mighty archangel of the heavens. At the very least, it was enough to make Morty regret choosing not to take them when he had the chance.  In addition, unlike Rick, Jerry had actually covered his genitals (albeit with what appeared to be a loincloth made of leaves), so that was a relief.

"Well, this- it's been a touching reunion," said Rick. "Now get the fuck off our mountain."

 _"Your_ mountain?" said Jerry with a haughty flap of his wings, his arms crossed over his chest. "Are you familiar with the concept of 'finders, keepers?' "

"Are _you_ familiar with-with-with the concept of _kissing my ass?"_ said Rick.

Morty groaned. Not this again. "Can-can-can we save the dick-measuring for another time?"

"The only thing that needs measuring is my remaining tolerance for Jerry's bullshit," said Rick.

Jerry snorted. "Oh, don't worry, I'll be out of your hair soon. We just thought we'd return something you lost, first."

As if on cue, Rick of J19ζ7 crested the nearby cliff. A pair of insect-like fairy wings fluttered rapidly on his back, but his ascent was labored, as though he were being pulled down by something heavy. Morty's heart seized. Was that…

"Hey, guys!" said yet another painfully familiar voice. Sure enough, dangling from the hands of Doofus Rick was the Gromflomite that Rick had opted to ditch at the first available opportunity. "Oh, man, I thought I'd _never_ find you!"

Morty shot Rick a glare.

"He'll be lucky if he meets _anyone_ before he kicks the bucket, huh?" he whispered icily.

Rick shrugged. "What? I didn't say it wouldn't happen, I just said he would be lucky if it did, and he was. Lucky, I mean."

Son of a _bitch._

"It's-it's-it's, uh, good to see you again!" said Morty awkwardly, waving. "We, uh, umm, got lost?"

Jerry rolled his eyes, but the Gromflomite just nodded along like it was a perfectly reasonable explanation. "Oh, it's cool! I mean, I figured as much! You know, I didn't even realize you were missing until I stumbled across these two, here!" Rick and Morty exchanged a look. There was no way he was really that stupid. "I was all, 'Oh, wow, what a coincidence! Rick and Morty are both right behind me!' And then I turned around, and you weren't there, so I got all worried, 'cause I was thinking that maybe someone else showed up and got you both! We searched high and low for you guys – literally, 'cause these two both took flight perks, haha, get it? – and we couldn't find you _anywhere!_ Luckily, though, I took a tracking perk, so we were able to figure out which direction you guys ended up going in, instead! Man, though, you really don't have any sense of direction. I mean, you know you were going in the complete opposite direction, right? Like, wow. What's a super-genius without his sci-fi GPS telling him where to go, am I right?"

Holy shit, he really _was_ that stupid.

"Good, uh, good job," said Morty. "You, uh, you found us! What- We were so worried! What-what-what a relief, r-right, Rick?"

"Yeah," said Rick, arms crossed over his chest. _"Relief._ Right."

"Oh, wow, Jerry, you-you were right!" said Doofus Rick. "What a reunion! I-I-I was worried they wouldn't want to see us again, but now I'm just glad we were able to help!"

"Yep. That's me. Always happy to _help,"_ said Jerry as he shot Rick a cocky smirk. Morty grimaced. His dad knew _exactly_ how much his 'help' was actually appreciated, and he was _reveling_ in it. "Well, I think we've bothered this team enough! Let's go find our own mountain, shall we? After all, it's so easy to check 'em out when you've got a pair of dope-ass wings, right?"

With a few beats of the wings in question, Jerry had lifted himself high into the sky, forcing Morty to avert his gaze to avoid being emotionally scarred by his father's genitalia. Doofus Rick, who was also donning nothing but a loincloth, flitted excitedly after him; Morty noted with some amusement that this alternate version of his grandfather was modest enough to keep his knees tucked together as he flew in order to hide his own junk. It wasn't long before the two had disappeared over the treetops that continued to obstruct their view of the sky, leaving the Rick and Morty of C137 alone with the Gromflomite they'd attempted to ditch earlier.

"So where to next, guys?" said the Gromflomite. "I know you wanted me to walk ahead, but I think it's better for all of us if we stick together. Wouldn't want you getting lost again!"

Rick started off without so much as acknowledging the Gromflomite's existence, leaving Morty to continue trailing uncomfortably behind.

"Where- What _are_ we looking for, Rick?" said Morty.

"A place to set up camp," said Rick. Though his surprisingly calm tone of voice did little to betray his frustration, it was evident from the way he viciously tore through the foliage blocking their path with his claws that there was something bothering him. Knowing he would get no serious answers while the Gromflomite was within earshot, Morty opted to wait until later to ask what had him so riled up. "The-the ground here is too uneven. You'd-you'd trip over yourself every time you woke up in the middle of the night to take a piss, Morty."

"Hey, that-that's not true!" said Morty. "I always go _before_ I go to-"

He cried out as his bare foot got caught in a vine, sending him face-first into a bunch of warm mud. Or at least, he _hoped_ it was mud. He didn't really want to risk asking until Rick's taunts confirmed it one way or another; it was all over his lips, and opening his mouth ran the risk of it getting inside. Instead, he began feeling around for the sapling that had gone flying out of his hands.

"Aww, shit, son! Is that what I think it is?" said Rick. Though he was blinded by the unknown substance, Morty could hear him kneeling down for a closer look. He braced himself to be told what he was dreading; that it was the turd of some incredibly rare creature that they would have to chase down to extract the science-y stuff within. "Mud, Morty! There must be water nearby. Hey, Dildo-face! Start looking through these bushes for a stream!"

Phew!

Morty did his best to wipe himself off with his arm, but it was a lost cause. He was absolutely coated from head to toe. Fortunately, it was a little easier to brush out of the leaves atop his head than it would have been to clean it out of actual hair, but it was still rather uncomfortable. He winced as he freed his ankle from the thorny vine. Somewhat alarmingly, he couldn't help but notice that the blood it had drawn was not red, but instead a strange translucent golden brown goo. Was it just muddy plasma, or was he _really_ bleeding tree sap?

"I found it!" said the Gromflomite.

Rick grabbed the sapling, took Morty by the arm, and yanked him back up before he so much as had the chance to mend his own injuries, leaving him to limp after his grandfather until they managed to catch up. Sure enough, there was a narrow stream surrounded by mossy rocks trickling back down in the direction they'd come from.

"Alright, let's follow this baby to the-URP-source," belched Rick.

As they walked, Morty did his best to heal himself. Though there wasn't a numerical representation for him to look at, he could feel the magic draining away what he could only assume was his mana, leaving it roughly half-full. It seemed like a lot of power to fix up some scratches and bruising, but then, he _was_ only at level one.

The Gromflomite didn't appear to have much trouble keeping up with their barefoot hike, but then, Morty was pretty sure his kind never wore shoes to begin with. Much as he wanted to keep staring at his grandfather's naked body, Morty scooted over to the alien's side.

"So, uh, you-you didn't tell them anything, right?" said Morty.

"Oh, I told them all sorts of things!" said the Gromflomite. "Like, did you know that the word 'fizwubbler' actually has roots in-"

"I meant about us!" clarified Morty. "About Rick and I being, you know, together, and stuff!"

"Huh? Oh, right. Nope," said the Gromflomite, like he'd totally forgotten. "Hey, are you guys hungry, or is it just me?"

"We'll eat when we reach the summit," said Rick. "Morty packed groconuts."

"You mean the purple coconuts?" said Morty. "Wow, that-that sure is a convenient name."

Slowly but surely, the number of trees began to dwindle, and they emerged into a sizable grassy clearing. Morty's eyes widened as he took in the view. The stream that they were following appeared to originate from a small, bubbling spring. At the other end of the clearing was a massive cliff from which one could see for miles in every direction. Morty scurried over to the edge, careful to stay low as he felt the wind pick up. One slip-up would have him plummeting to his doom, and yet the view was breathtaking enough that it was worth the fear. There was a whole valley down below sitting open and lush with greenery.

"Rick! Rick, check this out!" said Morty excitedly, but Rick was nowhere to be had. He turned around to find his grandfather and the Gromflomite both checking out the spring.

 _"Ouch!"_ said the Gromflomite, rapidly retracting his hand from the water. "It's boiling!"

"No shit, the steam didn't tip you off?" said Rick, turning his attention back to Morty, who was still covered in filth. "Anyway, the bad news is that this- it's way too hot to bathe in, so Morty, you're shit out of luck for now. The good news is that it's safe to drink. You know, as-as-as long as you let it cool off first."

"Is this where we're setting up camp?" asked Morty. "What are-are- What about food? It took us hours to get up here. We-we can't keep going up and down like this."

"I'll figure something out," said Rick. "For now, let's take five."

"Five of what?" asked the Gromflomite.

Morty could tell from Rick's posture alone that he was genuinely straining not to push the Gromflomite into the hot spring. Admittedly, the thought had briefly occurred to Morty, as well; killing him _would_ leave him unable to tell Jerry what he knew. However, for as numb as he'd become over the years, he still couldn't bear the thought of putting another living creature whose only crime was being annoying through the pain of boiling to death.

That was provided, of course, that he didn't squeal to Jerry. Morty's hands balled into fists as he strained to beat down the years of repressed rage dying to come screaming to the surface. If he ever had reason to suspect that anyone had done _anything_ to sabotage his relationship with his grandfather, _all bets were off._

"Soooo, groconuts?" said the Gromflomite, blissfully unaware of just how thin a line it was that he was walking with every moment he continued to remain in their presence.

"R-right," said Morty, hoping his tone of voice didn't completely given away his entire train of thought. "Yeah, I've got them here."

It was going to be a long, _long_ game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry about the wait; I wanted to get this pushed out by Friday, but I ended up hanging out with a co-worker that night. Unfortunately, I don't think I'm gonna be able to get updates out every week like I originally wanted, at least not of a reasonable length. I might aim for once every two weeks, instead. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! Thanks a bunch for reading. Please remember to leave your thoughts in the comments! Kudos are nice, and I sincerely appreciate them, but actual comments really help to stoke the motivational flames, metaphorically speaking!


	4. We're Gonna Build a Wall and Make the Monsters Pay For It

Morty sighed contentedly as he sipped his groconut water from the hole Rick had drilled into it with his claws. His grandfather was sitting up against a tree by the hot spring, with Morty curled up beside him and struggling to resist leaning on his arm like a clingy child.

"You know, I was kind of worried, at first, since, you know, coconut water is so gross," said Morty. "But this is actually pretty good!"

"What's coconut water?" said the Gromflomite, tugging the floppy appendages on his mouth out of the groconut.

"Just one item on our planet's long history of disgusting fad diet trends," said Rick, not bothering to wipe off the liquid dripping down his lips before he took another slurp. "You could pretty much stick a fancy label with pictures of leaves and shit on whatever weird thing you want, and people will line up to torture themselves for five dollars a bottle."

"It tastes like sweat squeezed out of a gym sock," said Morty.

"You've drunk sweat from a gym sock before?" said the Gromflomite, appearing concerned.

"What? N-no!" said Morty, blushing furiously as Rick snickered at his expense. He quickly chugged what was left of his groconut water, then smashed it against the ground to crack it open the rest of the way.

For a few minutes, there was blissful silence between them, leaving nothing but the sound of the bubbling hot spring and the cool breeze rustling the leaves. As with all good things, however, Rick was quick to ruin it the very instant he got bored.

"So," he began. "If-if Testicle-Face is staying, we're gonna need to come up with a better name. Or, you know, at least a consistent one."

"You could always use my real name," said the Gromflomite hopefully. "It's-"

Rick snapped his fingers as he appeared to come up with something. "Bug Person!"

"Bug Person?" said Morty, grimacing. "Really?"

"Yeah, you're right, Morty, that's too derivative," agreed Rick. "Summer Two?"

"That's-that has some weird implications," said Morty. "What about, uh, Exoskeleton? Or, uh, Thorax?"

"Not a chance," said Rick. "He's a dildo salesman, not a hardened badass. It-it can't be something with the letter 'X' anywhere in it."

"Oh!" said the Gromflomite. "If we can't use my real name, what about Doc?"

Morty watched Rick with a perplexed expression as his wide-eyed grandfather coughed up his groconut water.

"Why the _fuck_ would we call you that?" said Rick, as though mere mention of the word was enough to trigger some kind of traumatic flashback.

"Well, I _do_ have a doctorate," said the Gromflomite. "I mean, it seems a little better than just naming me after body parts I happen to have. That's kinda like me calling you 'Army' or 'Fleshball,' or calling a Gearperson 'Gearhead.' "

"Wait, _what?"_ said Morty, shocked.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to offend you with those names!" said the Gromflomite.

"Not that!" said Morty. "You have a _doctorate?"_

"Well, of course!" said the Gromflomite proudly. "You don't think they let just _anyone_ operate that brain-scanning machinery at the sex toy store, do you? I'm a full-fledged reproductive biologist. I did a whole dissertation on the mating habits of garbywonklers!"

While the Gromflomite dove right into a lengthy spiel about how and why the male garbywonkler burst into flame and exploded upon orgasm, Morty pursed his lips, curled up into a fetal position, and stared blankly at the ground in front of him. Holy hell, was _everyone_ smart enough for college except for him? Was he _really_ just the dumbest person in the universe? Hell, the _multiverse,_ even?

A sudden hand on his shoulder snapped him out of his self-pity. Morty turned his head.

"Rick…?"

"College is a waste of time, Morty," said Rick firmly. "Take it from me, it's not how you learn things."

"I think I learned a lot," said the Gromflomite.

"Yeah, buddy, I'm sure everyone is _real_ amazed with your unparalleled knowledge of garbywonkler dicks," said Rick flatly. "Meanwhile, my doctorate-free ass is over here making portals to entirely different dimensions. I'm smarter than all the greatest minds on your planet combined. Am I supposed to be impressed by some piece of paper proving you wasted eight years of your life studying animal penises so you could have a title to flaunt?"

The Gromflomite shrank back, very nearly scooting himself right over into the boiling hot springs. "I was just-"

"Just what? Trying to impress me?" said Rick, cracking open his groconut to feast on the juicy pink flesh within. "Keep dreaming. You may as well have bragged about your kindergarten macaroni art. I-I-I couldn't give less of a shit either way."

Geez. Morty couldn't help but feel a small pang of sympathy as the Gromflomite's mouth-danglers went limp and he stared sadly down at his groconut. Such excessive degradation of another person's vocation wasn't exactly unusual for Rick, but sometimes Morty forgot just how harsh his grandfather probably sounded to people who hadn't put up with him for nearly four years.

All that having been said, however, he couldn't help but be a little happy, too. Rick knew how sensitive Morty was about the whole college thing. He thought it was a stupid concern, sure, but he hadn't teased him about his failure to get accepted like Morty had expected. Dismissing a person's concerns probably wasn't the best way to comfort them in times of stress, but the idea that Rick might actually be _trying_ to make him feel better (though Morty was sure he would never admit it) was a nice thought.

Morty had to bite his tongue to keep from snickering to himself. He was well aware that most people would consider those things the absolute bare minimum level of human decency. It seemed low standards ran in the family. He scooted a little closer to his grandfather; if he'd learned anything from his parents, it was to enjoy the peaceful moments between the endless arguments while they lasted.

Just as he was about to slide his hand along Rick's thigh, however, his grandfather tossed aside his empty groconut shell and stood back up, leaving Morty pawing uselessly at his feet.

"Aww, come on, Rick," said Morty, disappointed. "No one else is gonna be up here this early."

"It's-it's not other players we have to be worried about right now," said Rick. He cracked his knuckles and stretched. "The wildlife is gonna spawn in at midnight. Unless you want to be disemboweled by a wobgobbler in your sleep, we need a camp."

"A-a what?"

"A wobgobbler!" said the Gromflomite, clearly eager for intellectual redemption after having his skills belittled and dragged through the mud. Morty smiled despite himself. The poor sex toy salesman had no idea just how futile an endeavor that was. "They've got these weird tentacle things on their lips lined with hundreds of sharp teeth that wrap around their prey and shred them as they swallow. _Suicide Weekly_ ranked them at number twenty-one on their list of the top fifty worst ways to kill yourself."

 _"Suicide Weekly?"_ said Morty. And yet, he'd seen enough crazy shit that the existence of such a magazine didn't even surprise him anymore. "Seriously?"

"What, you're not a subscriber?" said Rick. "I heard they've got the best recipe for cyanide brownies. I mean, I wouldn't know from experience, but apparently the taste is so good that it's enough to make people regret killing themselves. They-they go mad from the realization that they'll never be able to eat them again. I'd love to give them a try, but, I mean, death by brownie? It just sounds too stupid."

"Why not just make the recipe _without_ the cyanide?" asked Morty.

"Right, and why don't you just play the guitar without any strings? You-you-you- There are some things you just can't mess with, Morty!"

Exasperated, Morty opened his mouth to respond only to close it again. Some battles just weren't worth fighting.

"Oww!" said the Gromflomite, who Morty and Rick turned to notice sticking his hand back into the hot spring. Both Rick and Morty could do nothing but look on with disbelief as he continued: "How long is this water going to take to cool off?"

"Remember, Morty," said Rick with a snicker. "That guy is the most educated person on this team."

Morty's shoulders drooped. He knew Rick was trying to make him feel better. He knew that, and yet…

If a person like _that_ could _graduate,_ how dumb was he that he couldn't even get _admitted?_

* * *

 

Morty had known on some level that it was a game, but it was still pretty impressive just how abundant the world was with usable resources. He'd been stranded out in the wilderness on multiple occasions with Rick, and the ratio of truly useful items to garbage was much lower in real life. By comparison, scouting around the virtual mountain for things to put in his bag was like plucking items from store shelves to put in his shopping cart. There were edible mushrooms and roots around every corner. It was a far cry from the time he'd been stuck seriously considering whether or not it was worth trying to add a little grass to his diet.

He crouched down and dug through the mud. Just as Rick had said, there wasn't a bug or worm to be had. It was almost a little eerie. Morty could understand why the big predators couldn't spawn until later, but was it really necessary to hold off on anything and everything?

"Aww, shit! Blurbleberries!" he said, plucking several of the large, electric blue orbs from the bush. Just like hot peppers evolved to be spicy in order to avoid predation, blurbleberries also had a defense mechanism in the form of electrically shocking anything that bit into them. He made a note of the plant's location; Rick would want to transplant it closer to their camp later, once they had the means to insulate themselves from its electrical roots.

With his bag full and his spirits lifted, Morty began heading back up the mountain. The low stamina debuff was enough to leave him exhausted by his scouting mission. A shame, too; he'd hoped to be able to explore alone for a little longer. For as nice as it would have been to set up camp with his sweaty grandfather-turned-boyfriend, his ego was all too pleased by Rick's willingness to trust him to go out and be capable of knowing what was actually useful.

A blush crossed his face as thoughts of his grandfather filled his head. Shit, being too stressed to masturbate for the past few weeks had really taken a toll on him. He wanted Rick, and he wanted him _bad._ Not long ago, he'd have been content to furiously masturbate to porn of the elderly fucking the shit out of barely-legal young men. Back when the idea of sex with his own grandpa was little more than a shameful fantasy he could never share, that had been enough to keep him sated. Now, though? Knowing that it was actually a thing that could happen? That it _would_ happen, once he turned eighteen?

Morty took a moment to lean against a tree and take a shaky breath. Would anyone notice if he took a moment to rub one off? He supposed it didn't really matter if Rick could tell – if anything, his grandfather's awareness of his shame only turned him on even more – but it was a little weird if the Gromflomite knew. Did he care enough to hold himself back?

Memories of his sister and parents walking in on him in the act filled his head, and Morty decided that the answer was no. No, he did _not_ care. Not in the slightest.

He set down his bag and pulled off the uncomfortable shorts rubbing his privates raw. For a moment, he considered spending some mana to regenerate the damage. Only a moment, though, because he kind of liked the idea of rubbing it while it was still chafed. Already, his mind was hard at work coming up with filthy scenarios to justify his masochism.

"Yeah," he breathed as his hand wrapped around his sore, yet fully engorged cock. He knew damn well that he was playing with fire masturbating out in the open. Knowing his luck, there was a high probability Jerry would pick just then to come back and visit. It was stupid and dangerous and so very, very _hot._ "Grandpa…"

He pressed his back against the tree and allowed himself to slide down until his bare ass was in the dirt. It hardly made a difference; he was already covered in mud and filth. Hell, he was the very _embodiment_ of mud and filth, whimpering with pained pleasure as his palms slid against his reddened genitals and fantasizing that it was _Rick_ who was doing this to him, _Rick_ who was making him stroke his injured sex as punishment for some insignificant slight. Maybe he'd lost some important gadget that Rick had spent ages working on ('ages' here meaning 'longer than an hour') while they were out on an adventure, or maybe he'd just refused to go out hunting wozzywhizzers or alkanoggins on a school night. It didn't matter. He'd fucked up somehow, and he needed to be _disciplined_ for it.

Morty hissed with pain. The friction stung like a bitch, leaving him twitching and biting down on his lip with every movement of his hand. It was like masturbating with a sandpaper glove, and he _loved_ it, a fact he vocalized in the form of needy moans.

"G-grandpa!" he gasped, speeding his hand. If someone was going to catch him in the act, now would be the time. "Yes, grandpa, right there, _right there!_ A-ah-ah!"

His whole body tensed as he came, spurting white seed like a drinking fountain. Well, okay, maybe not a nice drinking fountain; more like one of those drinking fountains with super low water pressure that no one at the school ever got around to fixing, so your only choice was to either go without water or just place your lips directly on the nozzle and pray the last person was clean. Still, it had certainly _felt_ really good.

Morty looked around. "Is anyone there?" he called. There was no way he'd just masturbated out in the open and gotten away with it. "Hello?"

…Wait, why was he disappointed? As he cleaned up after himself with leaves, Morty blushed fervently as the realization hit him that maybe Rick was right about him getting off on being humiliated.

He did his best to rinse off in the hot stream that flowed from the boiling spring in their camp, scrubbing off as much mud and semen as he could before redressing himself. The water certainly felt nice enough, but it was too shallow for bathing in it to be an easy task, coming up only to his ankles.

As Morty retrieved his bag and continued back to camp, he began to wonder what his grandfather's next plan was. With a blurbleberry bush for power and conduction, they could probably put together some kind of a primitive motor, which could in turn be used to pump water from the hot spring. If they could cool that water down a little on its way to a faucet, they could get a sink and shower running.

As he stepped back out into the clearing, Morty marveled at what the two he'd left behind had already managed to accomplish. Several logs harvested from some of the stray trees scattered about the clearing jutted out of an almost-completed wall between the wooded route up the mountain and the clearing along the cliff.

"Oh, good, you're back," said Rick, grunting as he lifted another log into place for the Gromflomite to secure with vines and burry the bottom of. With his hands both busy, he jerked his head in the direction of the actual campsite beyond the wall. "I put your sapling where I want it planted, so go, you know, do that."

Morty hadn't expected to be given any choice in the matter, but it still annoyed him that Rick just expected him to obey without question.

"I-I found a blurbleberry bush," he said, holding out some berries for Rick to inspect.

"For real? Nice!" said Rick, grinning down at the berries. Morty could see the gears spinning in his head as he began coming up with ideas for their usage. Not content to be grandpa's little errand boy, Morty figured he'd throw in his two cents.

"I thought that maybe we could use it to get some plumbing going," said Morty. "You know, maybe for crop sprinklers and-and a shower, and stuff.

"Maybe, if we could find something rust-resistant to use in the pumps," said Rick. He hadn't immediately dismissed the idea. Morty considered that a success. "If we find metal, though, our priority should probably be weapons. Anyway, speaking of which, priority one is the wall, Morty. Go get your shit together so you can give us a hand, here. You-you think Mexico is gonna take care of this shit? Because it's _not,_ Morty. Mexico doesn't give a fuck!"

Morty sighed. "How much did you have to drink before we started playing, Rick?"

"Not enough," said Rick. "In fact, fuck plumbing _and_ weapons; priority one is finding yeast and fermenting juice."

"I thought priority one was the wall."

"Hey, if the president doesn't have to keep his campaign promises, neither do I."

"What about my name?" said the Gromflomite, prompting Rick to groan. "Where's that on the priority list?"

"I- The ratio of effort wasted on your name to actual fucks that I give is already disproportionate," said Rick. "Your name is Buggy. There, end of plot thread."

"That's it?" said Buggy. "After all that build-up, we're just going with something a little kid might come up with?"

"Should have gone with Bugs, Rick," said Morty. "We-we could have done 'What's up, Doc?' jokes."

"It-it-it takes a little more than some shitty references to get me to laugh, Morty. My bits are a little more sophisticated than some cartoon," said Rick. "Now are you gonna stand here being useless all day, or are you going to plant that tree?"

Morty rolled his eyes as he entered the campsite. If the wall was any indication, Rick had chosen to lay clam to the entire clearing, including the hotspring. It was still unclear how his grandfather planned to handle the stream, since the wall around it hadn't been completed yet, but it was definitely on track to end up inside their territory. It wasn't an enormous amount of land, and they probably wouldn't be installing a jogging track anytime soon, but it was at least a half-acre. That was enough for a little hut. Not quite so much for a proper farm, but they would probably end up expanding outwards as time went on.

He turned his attention to the lone tree sitting in the center of the space. In fairness to his bossy grandfather, it _was_ a good spot, far enough away from the wall that it would be getting a good amount of sunlight throughout the day while being far enough away from the cliff that it wouldn't be visible from down below even as it grew. Well, assuming it wasn't one of those trees that would grow super tall, anyway. Now that Morty thought about it, he wasn't really sure what kind of a tree it was. There was a high chance it was some alien variety he'd never even heard of. At the same time, however, the shape of its leaves was somewhat familiar. Where had he seen them before?

He set his bag down and stabbed his wooden spear into the ground to help break apart the tangled web of grass roots, then got to work scooping the dirt away with his bare hands. Without a shovel, it took quite some time to get a whole dug out that he was satisfied with, by which point the sun had sunk low enough that it appeared to be brushing against the distant horizon. Morty glanced back at the wall. At the rate Rick and Buggy were working, it would almost certainly be completed in time, but that still left them sitting out in the open for anything with wings.

Morty planted his sapling quickly and carefully, patting down the soil and ensuring that it wasn't crooked or unstable before hurrying back to Rick's side.

"About time you got here," said Rick, looking slightly more annoyed than usual. Not with Morty, though; that was definitely his 'I'm about to admit that I might not have been as one hundred percent right as I usually am' face. Morty did his best to conceal his gleeful anticipation of whatever was to come. "Look, I'm gonna level with you, Morty. Crafting tables are stupid, but they're also fast. I need you to make a table. You can use that pile of wood we stripped from the logs." He gestured to what looked to be a pile of twigs. "The- Most of these branches are pretty useless to me, but the crafting spells don't care about the shape so much as they care about the volume. Take all these useless wood and leaves and try to put together some lean-tos against our wall. The wildlife aggro is set to low for the first three nights, so we should be fine as long as they don't see us."

"Oh," said Morty. "Uh, how do I make a crafting table?"

"The same way you pull up item descriptions!" said Buggy. "Press the little hammer icon. If a crafting spell is available, a button will show up."

"Hey! Less talking, more tying!" growled Rick.

Morty approached the branch pile and focused on the wood. Just as it did with other items, a little window popped up with a brief description of what he was looking at.

 _'Wood,'_ it read. _'This sturdy, versatile material can be used to make tools, shelters, furniture, and more!'_

No shit. Truly something he never would have guessed on his own. Morty navigated to the crafting information window behind the little hammer icon.

_'This item requires at least a level 1 crafting table to be used in most crafting spells. It can also be used on its own to make a level 1 crafting table.'_

Just below the description was a large button with the word _'Craft'_ written on it. Morty tapped the icon, leading to an image of a workbench showing up. He tapped the image, and the menu vanished. Instead, a translucent, three dimensional hologram of the bench was projected from his palm.

"Now just aim it somewhere and say 'Craft!' " said Buggy.

"Uh, craft?" said Morty. All at once, most of the branches in the pile floated over to the location where he'd aimed the spell and began melding themselves together into the object in question.

It was a decently sized little table. To distinguish it from an ordinary piece of furniture, a little, three-dimensional glowing hammer icon hovered and spun above the center. Morty began dragging it over to a spot near the inside of the wall, a feat that left him gasping for breath as a result of the debuff he'd taken.

The next few minutes were spent hauling what was left of the branch pile over to the crafting table's new location. So far, so good, but he still had to figure out how to use it. Morty placed his hands down on the table, and a large ring of light appeared in a circle around it, presumably highlighting the area from which it could be used and resources could be drawn from for recipes. Still, there was nothing indicating what he could actually make. Maybe if he focused on the table like with the item descriptions?

 _'Level 1 Crafting Table,'_ read the description. _'A table that allows the usage of crafting spells. This is the lowest-quality table that can be created, but it's good in a pinch. Use it to build a better one at the earliest opportunity.'_

He switched to the crafting information. Rather than pull up information about how it could be used, however, a large menu with a scroll bar appeared displaying all kinds of categories. Tools, clothing, structures, and more were available. He opted for 'Structures.' From there, he selected 'Level 1 Recipes.'

The vast majority of the options were greyed out, but a little lean-to was available at the top-left. It was a pretty dingy-looking thing with barely enough space for two people to lay down under it, let alone three. He only had enough materials for two, so one of them would get their own while the others were stuck sharing. Morty crafted the first one up against the wall like Rick had asked, then peered inside. It was tight. _Really_ tight. Whichever pair got stuck inside it would spend the whole night squished together like sardines in a can, their naked bodies swapping sweat and sliding together with every tiny movement…

Morty's toes curled even as he stood. Oh, this was _perfect!_

* * *

 

This was _not_ perfect.

He really should have seen it coming. Anything that was too good to be true inevitably was. Morty pouted as the Gromflomite crawled into the lean-to behind him, his stiff, exoskeletal body a far cry from the warm, wrinkled old flesh that he'd hoped to be sleeping against.

"Well, this isn't so bad!" said Buggy. "Poor Rick, right? All by his lonesome while us two pals are layin' in here together!"

"Right," muttered Morty. In fairness to his grandfather, it wasn't as though he'd rejected Morty's offer to share for entirely selfish reasons. Due to the strength perks he'd taken, he was just too bulky to fit inside one of the tiny little structures with an additional person. Still, Morty doubted he was mourning the loss.

"Hey, hey, you know what would be good right now?" said the Gromflomite. "We should stay up late telling scary stories! It'll be like a sleepover, but, you know, _not_ a sleepover!"

Oh, for fuck's sake… "If-if I know anything about Rick, it's that he's gonna wake us up the second the sun's up, if not earlier. So, uh, we should probably just sleep."

"Aww, just one? Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease?"

It was times like these that Morty struggled to follow his moral compass and refrain from murders of convenience.

"Fine," said Morty at last. "Just one."

"Okay! You won't regret it, I promise!" said Buggy. "Here we go. Once upon a time, there was a scary ghost…"

Those words were the last thing Morty's conscious brain registered before sheer boredom carried him off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, readers! Admittedly, I didn't use the two weeks I gave myself as effectively as I should have, but I hope it doesn't read like a college essay that's been passed in at the last minute. Thanks for reading, and I hope to see you again at the next chapter! Spread the word! Tell your friends! Tell your wives! Tell your kids! Okay, uh, never mind, maybe don't do that. Do leave a comment, though, please! As usual, I'm open to criticism, so don't feel like you have to be heaping praise. If something bothers you, speak up so I can do it less in the future!


	5. Here There Be Dragons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry for being a week late. Five chapters in, and we're already getting schedule slip. It just wasn't ending in a good place last week, so I kept writing a little longer. On the upside, that means this chapter is a little longer than the last few. On the downside, well, it's late. Sorry again!

Morty had expected to dream about a lot of things. Dicks, boobs, maybe some childish fantasy about finally beating the ever-loving shit out of Rick…

What he hadn't expected was to be completely lucid on another tiny floating island in the sky. The moon shone brightly above. A beam of light was fired down from it to the ground in front of him, forming into a ghostly white mannequin of a woman with four slender arms. She had stylized black eyes that looked like they'd been painted onto her face, and ethereal silver hair that floated about in the air of its own accord. Other than that, however, her ball-jointed body was smooth and blank. No mouth. No nose. It was a little creepy, but Morty had been around the universe enough that it wasn't even close to the weirdest thing he'd seen. He eyed her stiff, unmoving breasts, still fully believing this to be some kind of a trippy wet dream.

Hm, her hair was neither red nor blue. That was a little disappointing, but he supposed he could make do. Morty cracked his knuckles.

"Okay, so, uh, the safeword is 'pickle,' " said Morty, reaching out towards her chest.

"I am not here to have sex with you," said the mannequin woman, smacking his hand away like she were swatting at a fly. "I am an extension of the Game Master, keeper of stats. I have come to help you invest your skill points."

"What? Oh," said Morty. Even in his dreams, he just couldn't get laid! "Right, I-I guess that makes sense."

The mannequin woman waved her hand, and a marble office desk materialized before them, followed by two chairs on either side. She took a seat on the opposite end, then gestured for him to join her.

"Come, Morty. Have a seat."

"Do-do I still get a wet dream after this?" asked Morty as he sat down. "Because I don't think Rick's putting out anytime soon."

"My name is Moonshine," said the mannequin woman as though she couldn't hear him. "I-"

"Moonshine?" said Morty. "Like- You mean like that shitty alcohol people made themselves during Prohibition?"

Ah, Prohibition. That ran all the way up until 1933, right? Just a generation shy of Rick's. A good thing, too; Morty had a feeling his grandfather wouldn't have taken that sort of a thing lying down. It would be kind of interesting to see if there was an alternate dimension where it happened while Rick was alive. Would the United States government still exist? Or would Rick have dismantled it in a destructive rampage? He made a note to add that to the list of adventures the next time it was his turn to choose. Over the years, he'd managed to bring the number up to one in every four adventures through a combination of bribery, blackmail, and general manipulation, so it wasn't quite the waste that it once would have been.

"What is this 'Prohibition' you speak of?" said the mannequin, only to shake her head. "No. Never mind. I am not here to learn. I am here to assign stats."

"Are-are-are you sure you don't want to at least learn how contractions work?" said Morty, resting his elbows on the desk. "Do you think saying every-every word on its own makes you, like, more mysterious, or something? Because it doesn't. It's just awkward."

"And perhaps you would like to learn how to speak without that irritating stutter," said Moonshine.

Morty shrugged. "It-it-it adds to my awkward charm."

"Ahem," said Moonshine. She waved her hand, and the surface of the desk became a screen. Various numbers detailing Morty's exploits for the day peppered the surface. "Let us see, here. Shall we begin with your physical activity? You walked a fairly long distance today carrying a fairly significant amount of weight for someone of your size and muscle mass, though you were carried most of the way up the mountain on which you currently find yourself. Ordinarily, this would be worth four strength and four speed levels, but your debuff brings the gain down to two each. Furthermore, you used up a fair bit of mana on regeneration spells today. You took a buff that increases magical ability, so I will credit three mana levels to your account, increasing your available pool by approximately thirty percent."

"Mmhmm," said Morty, already bored. He wasn't sure if it was his short attention span was a result of Rick constantly pulling him out of school, or if it was just a symptom of his vague and undiagnosed learning disability. Either way, it wasn't as though the exact numbers did much for him when he couldn't actually see them in the game proper. "More strength and mana, got it."

"You have earned a total of two skill points and four spell points," said Moonshine. The pictures on the desk shifted into the shape of three skill trees, each point on them complete with a picture and a name. "Let us start with your skill points. Here are the trees available to you based on the perks you took. You can choose to put skills into your Dire Rabbit, Shade, or Dryad abilities. Keep in mind that in this game, skills are just passives. None of these will cost you any mana, as they will be constantly active. In addition, I am happy to advise you about both your choices here and your priorities upon waking, should you wish it."

"Advise me?" said Morty. "You're not, like, gonna give me intentionally bad advice, right?"

"Perish the thought," said Moonshine with a dismissive handwave. "I am your personal dream-walker, Morty. You may think of me as a sort of guardian angel. I am assigned to you, and only you. I cannot see or know anything of the game beyond what you have personally felt and witnessed." Wait, did that mean she'd seen him masturbate to thoughts of his grandfather? Somehow, that didn't bother Morty nearly as much as it probably should have. "I was instanced solely to see you succeed to the best of your abilities, as is the case with all of my kind who visit the dreams of our players."

"Oh. So, uh, you're kind of like a helper fairy or whatever?" said Morty.

"You could say that," said Moonshine. "However, I can only communicate with you in your sleep, so try to make the most of our sessions together."

Morty looked over the screen and began exploring his options. Focusing on an icon brought up a description of each skill. The base of each tree had already been activated, presumably indicating that they were skills he already had.

_Dire Rabbit's Feet: This skill grants the user heightened speed and agility._

_Shade's Fangs: This skill makes the user's footsteps much quieter, and causes them to be less visible in the dark._

_Dryad's Sap: This skill increases the user's starting mana pool and reduces the cost of all spells by ten percent._

"So I have two points to spend here?" said Morty.

"Indeed," said Moonshine. "Would you like me to make a recommendation? You can always feel free to ignore it if you do not like what I have to say."

"Oh, sure," said Morty. It couldn't hurt, right? It wasn't like he had any idea what he was doing, anyway.

"As you wish," said Moonshine. "If my understanding is correct, you are currently grouped with a character who can serve as all the muscle you need. 'Rick,' I believe you called him. Do you trust this person not to betray you?"

Morty snickered. "It-it depends on the day."

"And today?"

"Probably," said Morty. Rick was flighty and selfish, but it was all practical villainy. He wasn't the type to betray a person unless he actually had something to gain by doing so, and there was little to nothing that he could actually hope to get out of Morty's virtual demise. He'd even gone so far as to gimp himself in the magical department with the expectation that Morty would pick up the slack. "Sure, yeah, okay, I trust him."

"Good, then we can probably ignore the skills that focus on increasing your strength, at least for the time being," said Moonshine. She waved her hand, prompting little red Xs to pop up over various skills. "I get the feeling that you are not so sure about the Gromflomite fellow, so we should refrain from making decisions that assume he will remain with you in the long-term. Of course, given that you do not seem aware of which perks he has taken one way or another, I suppose we would not be able to make these kinds of determinations even if we wanted to. Whether you remain allies or become enemies in the future, I would advise that you attempt to learn more about this one while you have the chance. In any case, I must ask how you intend to build your avatar going forward. Would you prefer to focus on offense or support?"

Morty shrugged. "I dunno. It'd be nice to be a little more-more-more-" There was a word for what he meant, but it was eluding him at the moment. "You know, something that can fit any situation."

"Flexible?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, close enough," said Morty. It sure was a good thing Rick wasn't there. No doubt he'd make some lewd comment about how Morty was already flexible enough that he could fit whatever he wanted and-

God damn it, could he stop thinking about sex with his grandfather for _five fucking minutes?_

"If that is the case, I suppose you could just eschew defense along with strength," said Moonshine. "Most dryad passives are about increasing your defense; it is typically played as a sort of tanky mage, but the debuffs you took would make this a rather poor choice of build. Instead, I suggest focusing all your passives in the Rabbit's Foot and Shade's Fang trees. You will miss out on a few upper-level magic bonuses in the dryad section, but the Shade's Fang tree has a mana-focused branch that should be able to make up the difference, so- Are you even listening to me?"

Morty, who'd spaced out midway through her spiel to wonder what sex position he wanted to lose his anal virginity in, quickly snapped back to attention.

"Can't you just pick for me?" said Morty. "I mean, it-it sounds like you've got this shit all figured out."

"Uhg," said Moonshine. "Fine, I am giving you the second tier of Rabbit and Shade passives. That gives you a ten percent speed and jump increase, in addition to preventing environmental interactions like footsteps and rustling plants from making noises to other players."

"Great," said Morty. "Can I dream about Rick now?"

"Not so fast," said Moonshine. "You still have to pick out your active powers."

Morty groaned as a new trio of skill trees popped up and Moonshine began to go over his options.

On the Rabbit tree, the first available spell was called 'Tireless Sprint,' a sustained skill costing a set amount of mana per second that would give him the ability to exert himself without tiring out for as long as his mana lasted. The Shade tree included a spell that granted night vision. On the Dryad side of things were a variety of different branches from the start, with the base, 'Photosynthesis,' already unlocked from the start. One branch seemed to focus on defense with the first spell being 'Bark Skin.' Another was devoted to increasing his healing skills, starting with 'Willow Tears,' which could extend his regeneration to another player. A more combat-oriented branch had a spell called 'Leaf Barrage' that would let him fling, well, _leaves_ at his opponent like some kind of Pokemon.

First things first; Morty picked the healing spell. Rick had a propensity for throwing himself into danger. In a game world where consequences were even less dire than usual, he had no doubt his grandfather would end up horribly mangled over something dumb before the week was through. The capacity to expend mana instead of stamina also seemed quite useful, given the debuffs he'd taken, so he quickly nabbed Tireless Sprint. The night vision seemed practical enough, and while the leaf barrage was lame, there was some better-looking shit further up that line of the skill tree that required it as a prerequisite.

"Okay, I've picked out all my spells," said Morty with a hopeful smile. _"Now_ can I go?"

"Fine, fine," sighed Moonshine. The table disappeared, and Morty grunted as the seat beneath his ass vanished from existence, causing him to drop to the ground with an uncomfortable thud. "You may leave. Sweet dreams."

Just as Morty got back to his feet, the island he was standing on flickered away. His jaw dropped as gravity took hold and dragged him screaming down towards the cloud layer below, leaving Moonshine floating silently above where he'd stood only milliseconds prior.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

* * *

 

"Now-now _this_ is more like it!" said Morty, licking his lips as his harem of Ricks and Jessicas lounged sexily over the various pieces of furniture in his mansion, each donning a different costume to play to one of his innumerable fetishes. Solid gold statues of himself filled the room, as did random bowls of fruit and fancy-looking plants. He reclined on his comfortable sofa and snapped his fingers, prompting one of the many instances of his grandfather – this one dressed like a butler – to hurry to his side.

"Yes, M-AUGH-ster Morty?" said Butler Rick.

"Two things," said Morty, kicking his feet up to rest them on the back of a Rick on his hands and knees on the ground like a human footrest. "First, find Werewolf Rick and Vampire Jessica. I want to see them fuck each other, then me."

"I'll-I'll get right on it," said Butler Rick.

"Second," said Morty. "Go find our fanciest plate, put some grapes on it, and bring it back here. I-I want you to feed them to me while I watch them. You know, like all those stereotypical royals in movies and cartoons and shit."

"Of course, Master Morty. We here at Morty Manor live to serve the best, most attractive Morty in the multiverse," said Butler Rick with a flourish and a bow.

As Butler Rick departed, Morty gestured for the cat-eared Jessica masturbating in the fountain (the water for which was being spewed from yet another solid gold Morty's rock-hard genitals) to approach.

"Yes, Master Morty?" said Cat Jessica, her bare breasts jiggling with anime physics. "How may I serve?"

Morty sat up straight, taking his feet off of Footrest Rick in the process. "You're going to stand there and touch yourself while I play with your breasts. And-and you!" he said to Footrest Rick. "You're going to suck me off."

"Yes, Morty," they said in perfect unison.

Morty grinned sleazily. Oh, this was just the best!

_WHAM!_

"SHIT!" cried Morty as he was jolted awake by a stiff foot kicking him squarely in the back. "What the actual fuck?"

"Sorry, sorry!" said Buggy sheepishly. "I just got so excited about all my new abilities that I just kind of, you know, spazzed out."

Morty took a deep breath. It was just a dream, right? It wasn't like the Gromflomite had _actually_ ruined his chance to get knotted by Werewolf Rick while simultaneously fucking Vampire Jessica while she drank his blood. There was no reason to be so angry. There wasn't, and yet…

He exhaled. Nope, didn't matter. He was still fucking pissed.

 _It would be so easy to just push him into the hot spring,_ said a devious voice in his mind that sounded suspiciously similar to his grandfather's.

No. No, he couldn't do that. Tempting as it was, Buggy knew which planet he lived on, and an obvious betrayal might lead him to tattle on Morty's parents. Even if Rick wiped their memories, there was nothing preventing Buggy from just telling them all over again, short of killing him for real. Morty had grown colder in recent years, but not cold enough to murder anyone who inconvenienced him.

Morty gritted his teeth as the Gromflomite shifted continuously behind him in an effort to get comfortable. He just had to get through this one night, and by the next, they would surely have a proper shelter up. No longer would he be stuck sleeping in the dirt. At the very least, he would harvest a few sheets of moss to pad the ground.

Just as he was about to doze off again, an absurdly loud rumbling shook him awake once more. Morty sighed, rubbed his temples, and poked his head out from within the lean-to.

Unsurprisingly, Rick was already wide awake, standing up and looking upwards into the dark clouds overhead. He'd always been a light sleeper when he wasn't thoroughly inebriated. Sometimes Morty wondered if he ever slept at all beyond drunkenly passing out.

More interestingly, the dark of the night had been banished by a gloomy red light that left the whole world looking like a scene from a sci-fi horror film. The moons had taken on the same color, looking not entirely unlike a pair of giant cherries in the sky.

Morty turned his attention back to Rick. Despite everything, the old man was as calm as ever, looking almost bored with the whole affair. Or, rather, he was certainly _trying_ to look bored. Morty knew better; he recognized the familiar glimmer of curiosity and interest in Rick's eyes, though he would vehemently deny it out of some bizarre fear that his grandson would cease to respect him if he displayed any emotions beyond cockiness and contempt. Morty smiled knowingly and followed his gaze to the beams of bright red light descending slowly and dramatically from the clouds to the ground in the distance.

"What are those?" asked Morty.

"That's the wildlife," said Rick, brow furrowing. "They're programmed to spawn a certain distance away from players, so we should be safe on this cliff, but be on the lookout for shit that flies. There- I didn't see any big caves on the way up this mountain, but we might see some dragons looking for a mountain to nest on."

"There are dragons in this game?" said Morty, not sure whether to find that exciting or horrifying. "And they like mountains? And we _chose a mountain to live on?"_

"They like mountains with _caves,_ Morty. This mountain is all greenery," said Rick, shrugging. "Besides, dragons in this game are kind of like bees. You've seen the Youtube videos of jackasses sticking their hands into bunches of swarming bees without a hive, right? They don't get territorial until they have a territory to defend. We're good."

Morty sighed. "If-if I end up getting fucking vored by a dragon, Rick, I swear to God-"

"There is no God, Morty."

"Sure there is," said Morty, elbowing him cheekily. "I'm standing right next to him."

Even with everything bathed in red light, Morty could tell from the expression on Rick's face alone that he was blushing.

_Nailed it._

"Careful, Morty," mused Rick once he was over the initial ego-tripping high. "If you brown-nose any harder, your face might get stuck up my ass."

"That's cool. We-we can turn it into an internet video," said Morty. " 'Two Guys, One Butt.' "

Rick's lips were pressed tightly together, clearly straining to hold back a chuckle. It wasn't until after he took a moment to maintain his composure that he finally fired back with, "Wow, Morty. _Wow._ What is this, 2007? What's next? You gonna ask me if you can has cheeseburger?"

"Is it really that old?" said Morty, cocking his head to the side. "Aww, geez. Now I feel like a geezer."

"Oh, I'm sure," said Rick. "Get back to me in seventy years when you've lost half of that mop you call a haircut to male pattern baldness; then we'll talk."

"I dunno, Rick," said Morty. "I mean, my dad's still got a lot of hair, and yours is still pretty thick aside from the one little spot in the back. I-I-I'm liking my chances."

"Not if I have anything to say about it," said Rick. He wrapped an arm around Morty's shoulders, pulled him in close, and playfully rubbed his knuckles into his grandson's leafy scalp. "C'mere, you little bitch."

Morty snickered, making a big show of beating his fists against Rick's arms to get free without actually hitting hard enough to actually cause him any pain. "Aww, geez, Rick! Come on!"

"Not 'till you beg for mercy!"

"Never!" said Morty, laughing so hard that there were tears in his eyes. His legs gave out beneath him, and they both dropped to their knees.

"Then it-it looks like I'll have to use my secret weapon," said Rick, pinning him to his back on the ground. Morty gulped, squeezing his knees together in rapt anticipation. He'd barely slept longer than a few hours, but he felt as energized as if he'd rested for a thousand years. "Get ready, Morty!"

Morty shuddered and tipped his chin upwards to expose his neck, an excited grin on his face. "Do-do your worst, old man!"

Rick's hand slid down to his stomach, and Morty had to bite down on his lower lip to contain his excitement. Yes, _yes…_

He froze as, instead of traveling down to his crotch, Rick's fingers began to wiggle over his belly. Morty struggled to bite back the involuntary laugh that escaped his throat despite his disappointment with being tickled instead of felt up. Okay, well, sometimes sexy moments started out with a little tickling, right? Any second now, Rick would latch his lips to Morty's throat and-

Morty howled with laughter. Damn it, he wasn't showing any signs of changing gears. He did his best to provide a little more temptation, going so far as to spread his legs and resist every instinct screaming at him to bat his grandfather's hands away, but nope. Nothing.

At last, Rick released him, and Morty gasped for breath.

 _Kiss me,_ he wanted to say. _Touch me. Cover my whole body in hickeys._

But he didn't. That would be too needy. Too _desperate._ If he wanted to seduce Rick, it seemed he would just have to try harder to meet his standards.

Morty did his best not to look too disappointed as he sat up, still trying to catch his breath.

"Well, anyway," he said awkwardly, unable to meet Rick's eyes. "We should, uh, probably get rest, huh?"

"Just a sec," said Rick, looking back out at the red lights. Morty, too, watched with wide, fascinated eyes as distant specks he could only assume were various animals descended from the clouds to the ground. They were all too far away to get a good look at, but it was still quite the spectacle, looking almost like an alien abduction in reverse.

For several moments more, they sat side by side, silently observing the strange occurrence. Eventually, however, the red moons began fading back to their characteristic grey, and nothing remained in the pitch-black sky but shimmering stars. Caught up in the moment, Morty reached for Rick's hand, only to notice that his grandfather had already gotten up to retreat to his lean-to.

Morty sighed. Better luck next time, he supposed.

* * *

 

"Oh, Morty," moaned Werewolf Rick and Vampire Jessica in unison as Morty watched them fuck from his sofa. He lounged contentedly and opened his mouth, prompting Butler Rick to feed him yet another grape.

"Werewolf Rick, lick her thighs," said Morty. "Vampire Jessica, reach down and fist his ass. Just-just drive your arm all the way up in there. Fuck physics, it's a dream, anyway." He opened his mouth for another grape, which Butler Rick was quick to provide. "Mm. This is nice and all, but I'd kinda like something to use while I watch them. Butler Rick! Fetch me the pickle!"

In the real world, it might have taken time for this item to be retrieved, but this was a dream, and so it was borderline instantaneous. Butler Rick handed Morty the familiar green vegetable on a golden platter.

"Aww, shit!" said Pickle Rick as Morty picked him up and ran his tongue along his briny body. "I'm Pickle Riiiiiiick!"

"Well, you're Dildo Rick, now," said Morty, lowering the vegetable down to his groin. "Take a deep breath, grandpa!"

_"Morty!"_

Morty's eyes snapped open as his _real_ Rick dragged him by his ankles out of the lean-to and into the waking world. The light of the dawning sun stung his cloudy eyes, and he rubbed them vigorously to remove the gunk and crust that had formed in them overnight. Damn it, he knew he should have just gotten in on the dream threesome while he had the chance. Ah, well. Adventure called.

"Oww!" he said, yanking his foot from his grandfather's steely grip. "Hey, watch the super strength! You're-you're gonna dislocate something!"

"You have a regeneration spell," said Rick like that completely excused the physical pain he was inflicting.  He took Morty's wrist and pulled him up to his feet. "Anyway, you don't have time to sleep. You have a-a-a very important mission to go on, Morty!"

Morty's shoulders drooped. "Just me?"

"Not a chance. This-this is way too hard for just one person," said Rick. Morty's eyes lit up. "You're taking Buggy."

If disappointment could kill, Morty- Well, actually, he'd have probably died years ago from one of the earlier points in his life that Rick had let him down. If disappointment had only just then spontaneously developed the potential to kill, though, he'd have keeled over for sure.

"Oh. Yay," said Morty in a distinctly non-celebratory tone.

"I need the two of you to travel to the next mountain over and get a dragon egg, Morty!" said Rick. Morty froze. That was a little more than he'd bargained for at this stage of the game. "That stupid sapling of yours is a fucking liability right now. We need to jumpstart its growth with a magic fertilizer to strengthen Morty and make the tree itself more productive."

"Productive?" said Morty. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'll tell you later, we're-we're already burning daylight," said Rick. "Anyway, if we compost an item as high-level as a dragon egg and use it to fertilize your sapling, it should kickstart the growth process and save us a bunch of game years waiting for it to mature. I mean, a year in this game is only four months, but still."

"Wait, you want us to climb another mountain when it took us all day to get up this one?" said Morty.

"Morty, when I'm done and ready for questions, I'll _tell_ you. Until then, shut up and listen," said Rick. He went around behind his lean-to to grab some devices that had been out of sight until then. Morty bit his lip. Those looked suspiciously like… "Tada! Hang gliders! You're hang gliding over to the next mountain! And before you start bitching about how hard it was to get up _this_ mountain, I'm gonna set up some shit to make it easier to get up and down while you're out. You know, all boring shit. Believe me, I'd rather be on dragon duty. Any questions?"

Morty raised his hand. "Those hang gliders are made of sticks, leaves, and vines, Rick."

"I asked for _questions,_ Morty, not _observations!"_ said Rick, shoving one of the sizable devices into Morty's hands. It was heavier than it looked, and Morty struggled to keep his balance as he tried to figure out the best way to carry the thing. In the end, Rick had to take it back and set it down again before he toppled over. "Look, just get in, get the egg, and get out. I don't think I should have to tell you not to let the dragons see you, since that seems like it should be pretty obvious, but seeing as I'm clearly working with morons here, better safe than sorry."

"This is gonna be so exciting!" said Buggy, practically bouncing up and down with childish glee.

"Now Buggy, I know that _you're_ prepared for this adventure," began Rick. "But-but Morty is a little bit of a klutz. Can you wait outside camp while I give him some private advice? You know, so I don't have to embarrass him with how basic it is."

Buggy's mouth danglers twitched. "Doesn't he, like, adventure with you all the time?"

"And he still sucks. I know, right?" said Rick, much to Morty's annoyance. "Anyway, do you mind?"

Buggy shook his head and began heading to the gate. "Of course not! Just let me know when you're done!"

As the gate shut behind him and Rick turned his attention back to his grandson, Morty glared up at him.

"I'm not murdering him while his back is turned, Rick," said Morty.

"Okay, first of all, I didn't say anything about killing him, and the fact that you would ever jump to that conclusion speaks _volumes_ about where _your_ priorities are at. You-you should be ashamed, Morty!" said Rick. Morty raised an eyebrow. Rick took another look at the gate and lowered his voice. "Look, you and I both want that fucknugget gone, but if we kill him in some obvious way, he'll be able to bug us in real life." Morty snickered. "Seriously, Morty? I thought I raised you better than to laugh at accidental puns."

"You didn't raise me at all."

Rick opted to ignore him in favor of continuing: "Anyway, if-if he were to just so happen to get incinerated while you were out, there's no way he could blame that on us. Bam! He's gone, and we have the egg. Two birds with one stone, Morty!"

Morty rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say, Rick."

"Now you're getting it!" said Rick, slapping him on the back. "Now go out there and tell that idiot to get back in here. With any luck, it'll be the last time we have to deal with him."

Morty frowned. He had a bad feeling about this. Of course, he had a bad feeling about almost every crazy, stupid thing his grandfather made him do, so it wasn't like this was unique in any way, but there was still something nagging at him that something was going to go very, very wrong.

* * *

 

"So, uh, is this safe?" said Buggy as Rick tied him into the hang glider with the vines.

"Depends on your definition of safe," said Rick, lifting up the glider part. "What likelihood of avoiding a painful death still falls within the bounds of 'safe' to you? Ninety percent? Eighty percent?"

"Uh, eighty percent is okay, I guess."

"Then no, it's definitely not safe," said Rick, shoving the screaming Gromflomite over the side of the cliff before he could react. "There we go! Morty, you're up next."

Morty didn't need to be told twice; he'd already tied himself securely to the glider. He watched with intrigued eyes as the wingless Gromflomite flew over in the direction of the next mountain. "Not-not that I'm encouraging it, but why didn't you just sabotage his glider so he'd fall and die, again?"

"What, and let him think I _can't_ make a hang glider with leaves, sticks, and vines?" said Rick.

So the answer was simple pride. Because of course it was.

"Wait, isn't this hang glider flammable?" said Morty as he gripped the wooden control bar. "And don't dragons fly and breathe fire?"

"Good luck out there, Morty! Don't fuck it up!" said Rick cheerfully, lifting Morty up by the waist.

"You _motherfucking-"_ began Morty, only to be interrupted when Rick threw him over the side of the cliff.

It wasn't his first time hang-gliding. As far as scary experiences went, it was a hell of a lot less terrifying than some of the freefalls he'd taken at terminal velocity. As the wind howled in his ears, nothing beneath his feet but a fatal drop into the forest below, he was reminded of the time he and Rick had gone dream-diving to improve his math grades, only to be left falling from a plane to almost certain doom. At the time, it had been a horrible experience. Looking back, though, he couldn't stop thinking about the sensation of clinging to Rick, who was himself clinging to Mrs. Pancakes' parachute.

Morty smiled and sighed. _Rick…_

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

"Can you _please_ just be quiet for a minute?" shouted Morty to the Gromflomite screeching ahead of him. "I-I'm trying to fantasize here!"

"OKAY, SORRY!" screamed the Gromflomite. "I'LL TRY TO COPE WITH THE PANTS-WETTING TERROR INTERNALLY!"

"You're not even wearing- Never mind, I don't care," said Morty, swiftly returning to his daydream. Where was he, again? Oh, right! Clinging to Rick, his cheek snuggled up against his grandfather's labcoat, nostrils flooded by the scent of booze…

"MORTYYYYYYYY!" screeched Buggy.

"I thought I told you to-" said Morty, only to notice the reason for Buggy's resumed screams. _"Shit!"_

A giant, serpentine creature as big as a house and with massive, leathery wings leapt out of the trees of the mountain they were on course to land on. As its terrible maw opened, a roar like a roid-raging tiger erupted through the hills.

Flames poured from its mouth, an inferno of primal rage the likes of which Morty had never seen. Immediately, he snapped out of his hormonal funk, all instincts switching over to a survival mode honed by years of interdimensional shenanigans. Morty shifted his weight to the right, just barely dodging a burning death. Buggy wasn't quite so lucky; though his body appeared mostly unscathed, his hang glider was caught in the blast. He was swiftly losing both altitude and control, a fact the hungry-looking dragon appeared eager to take advantage of. It circled the Gromflomite while Morty leaned forward in an effort to speed his descent towards the mountainside.

It was far from over. Morty's eyes widened as a second, even larger dragon rose from the ground to cut him off. Its yellow eyes smouldered with hatred, smoke pouring from its nostrils in billowing clouds of death.

As it opened its mouth and a torrent of flame approached, Morty had only milliseconds to think. There was no dodging this one with the hang glider; it was far too wide, and the wind wasn't blowing in a favorable direction. If he wanted to stand _any_ chance at all of surviving this, there was only one thing he could do.

Without enough time to so much as breathe and steady his nerves, Morty pulled at the loop to untie the vine securing him to the hang glider and let go of the control bar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and thank you even more for your patience! As usual, I'm always eager to hear honest feedback, so if you would be so kind as to leave a comment about your thoughts, I would be immensely grateful.


	6. Morty Alone

Morty inhaled sharply as the dragon's fire incinerated his hang glider. Fortunately, it didn't seem to notice that he'd abandoned it. Unfortunately, he was now plummeting towards the ground without a parachute. Even though actual death wasn't a concern, it was difficult to quell the panic long enough to remember what Rick had taught him about increasing his odds in these kinds of situations.

It ran counter to every instinct he had, but Morty relaxed his body. He closed his eyes as the trees approached, crying out in pain as he fell through branch after branch on his way to the ground. When his body finally struck the ground, it was on an incline. The initial impact knocked the wind out of him, and he tumbled uncontrollably down the mountainside, the various pieces of foliage scratching and tearing at his flesh until his body hit a tree trunk.

Morty groaned; his right arm and leg were definitely broken, and he was pretty sure hitting the trunk had cracked open every rib that hadn't already split. Painful as it was, however, it was probably the best result he could have hoped for. The branches had broken his fall, and the incline had helped to more gradually slow his momentum. Less fortunately, his spear appeared to have slipped out of the leafy holster securing it to his back on the way down, leaving him without a weapon. At the very least, however, he was still alive. That was a fact he'd learned to celebrate after many a death-defying stunt.

He activated Photosynthesis to mend his broken body, an act that sucked down about half of his mana in one fell swoop. The pain dissipated with his injuries, and he breathed a sigh of relief as he slowly got to his feet. Dirt and grime still covered his skin, but they didn't seem to interrupt the healing process.

Morty sat up straight against the diagonally-growing tree that had saved him from tumbling to his death and took a few minutes to simply breathe and restore his mana. Hopefully, if Rick had been watching from the other cliff, he didn't just assume that Morty had died and decide to kill himself to start a new game. It seemed far more likely, however, that Rick had immediately turned around to either build up their base or slack off like the selfish asshole that he was.

He looked around, trying to take in his surroundings. The incline he'd ended up on was incredibly steep, so much so that he wasn't even sure he would be able to stand on it; the tree formed a V-shape with the mountain that he was currently wedged into the bottom of. He carefully attempted to get up, using the tree as support, but that just left his body pressed against the trunk by gravity. The climb seemed almost impossible, and there was nothing beneath him but another drop, this time down to a solid, flat, and treeless surface.

"Shit," he murmured. Surviving the fall wouldn't do him any good if he was stranded.

Morty glanced upwards. There were several more trees on the way up, each one sticking out of the mountain like thick branches of the earth. If he could just jump from trunk to trunk… But no, they were out of his reach.

Or were they? Morty thought back to his meeting with Moonshine. Hadn't his ability to jump been improved by ten percent? And wasn't it already heightened by the Dire Rabbit's Foot to begin with? He hadn't actually tried jumping since the game began, so he didn't actually know what his new limits were.

Morty took another look downwards. Now that he actually had the time to think about what he was doing, the prospect of risking another fall was much more alarming. At the same time, however, the logical side of his brain knew that he had little other choice. Gathering his courage, Morty carefully placed his feet on the trunk of the tree and jumped to the next one up.

Shockingly, he almost managed to overshoot it. Morty quickly grabbed at the bark with his palms as his body began to fall forward.

"Okay," he said to no one in particular. "I-I-I can do this."

He jumped again to the next tree up, but found himself already breathing heavily. He hadn't built himself for stamina, and while the capacity to make the jumps was there, it was ridiculously draining. Shit, how did he activate skills, again? Why hadn't he thought to ask when he'd had the chance? Maybe he could do it by calling out the name.

"Tireless Sprint?" he attempted, only to find himself overwhelmed by a sudden surge of energy. Yep, that had done it.

As his mana ticked away, Morty quickly set about making several more jumps. With every leap, he grew better at gauging his new limits. He could go about ten or eleven feet straight up from a standing position, a height he recognized as about twice the world record for his species. There was something immensely satisfying about crouching down and flying upwards like a freaking anime ninja, so much so that he almost forgot that a single slip-up could send him plummeting to his death.

At long last, a flat surface appeared to form up above him. Morty just barely managed to clear the distance by grabbing at the edge with his fingers. Just as he hoisted himself up onto the cliff, the last bit of his mana ticked away into oblivion, and he could feel each motion of his body begin to expend energy once more.

Morty raised his fists into the air, giggling madly at his accomplishment. "Fuck yeah! Still alive, bitches!"

_"H-help!"_

For most people, such a word might put them off guard. For Morty, it put him on alert. He'd heard that word enough times from assholes trying to trick and murder him that he was almost reluctant to search for the source. However, he wasn't quite as cold as Rick – at least, not yet – and as a result, he couldn't stop himself from taking a look around.

_"Morty!"_ gasped the voice. Morty searched through the trees and rocks until he at last made it to the source, and it wasn't pretty. "Morty! You're here!"

It was none other than Buggy, still alive, but barely. The dragon had burned him pretty badly; various patches of exoskeleton had been scorched black. All four of his limbs were twisted and bent out of place, and it was very clear that he was barely clinging to life.

"H-how's it look?" asked Buggy in a pained voice. "Am I gonna make it?"

Morty had to force the corners of his lips into a frown in order to hide the smile that threatened to form. "It, uh, it looks pretty fatal. I mean, if-if I had any mana left, I could heal you, but-"

The Gromflomite brightened up. That was a bad sign.

"Oh, oh! I took a perk called 'Soul Fragment.' Long story short, it's a skill tree that specializes in switching around points and statuses. Last night I unlocked a skill that lets me transfer mana to other people! I could transfer my mana to you, and _then_ you can heal me! Teamwork!"

Morty inwardly kicked himself. Damn it! He had to go and open his big mouth. "Oh! Uh, _great._ Let's do that, then."

"Awesome!" said Buggy, alien blood still leaking out of his body. "Soul Offering: Mana!"

As Morty's mana was restored, he placed his hands over the Gromflomite. It was hard to say whether or not the gesture was necessary, but it felt the most natural. "Uh, Willow Tears."

Slowly but surely, Buggy's injuries faded away, and his limbs snapped back into their proper places. "Oh, wow! That's amazing, I feel totally fine now!"

Morty lowered his hands. "Yeah, well, it-it-it also uses up a metric fuckton of mana, so now we're _both_ out, and neither of us have weapons!"

"Well, it'll recharge while we walk, right?" said Buggy, hopping to his feet. "This isn't too bad of a trail. I don't think we'll need any powers or tools to traverse it."

Assuming a dragon didn't ambush them, sure, but Morty supposed there was no point in being a pessimist. Besides, if he _did_ manage to come back with the egg (sans Buggy), Rick would surely be impressed enough to show him a little physical affection. With a blush on his face and a newfound determination, Morty surged forward.

"So," said Buggy about a minute into their walk. "I've been meaning to ask you for a little while, and I hope it doesn't come across as too prying, but, uh, what's the story with you and Rick, anyway?"

Morty glanced back at him, puzzled. "Story? Like, how we met? Because it's really not that interesting. He sort of just-"

"No, no, I mean your relationship!" said Buggy. "Didn't you say you were lovers, or something? But all you guys seem to do is argue."

Morty cleared his throat. "It's, uh, it's complicated."

"Did you have a falling out, or-"

"It's not that we're mad at each other," said Morty. Why was he even bothering to answer? He didn't owe Buggy any kind of an explanation. "It's-it's-it's hard to explain. Even when we argue, it's kind of enjoyable, in a weird way. Like-like, you know how sometimes you might get into a ribbing match with a friend? It's a little like that. We just, uh, you know, we get more into it. It's kind of a pride thing, but it's also our way of being affectionate, if that makes any sense."

Indeed, they had been known to completely halt whatever disagreement they were having if a third party attempted to jump in and insult one of them or the other, prompting them to instead team up to verbally assault the poor sap who'd dared get in the middle of their spat. Rick in particular seemed to fancy himself the only person allowed to insult his grandson's intelligence; a dig from anyone else was always swiftly resolved with that unfortunate soul being put right back into their place.

"Huh," said Buggy. "I mean, I guess I could see it if it was strictly a familial thing, but you guys don't really act like lovers, either. I mean, I don't think I've ever even seen you guys hug."

Morty froze where he stood for a moment, then continued walking. "It's, uh, that's also complicated."

"How so?"

Morty gritted his teeth. Nosy, much? "Look, Rick has a lot of, you know, sexual experience. I guess it's just kinda hard for me to impress him."

"Really?" said Buggy. "Then why would he ever even agree to get into a relationship with you, if he wasn't actually interested?"

His shoulders tensed, and the pace of his walk increased. "I-I dunno, ask him."

"Have you talked to him about it?" asked Buggy.

Morty gritted his teeth. "Look, I don't need to _beg_ Rick for affection! I'm-I'm not that needy and desperate!"

"It's not about begging anyone for anything," said Buggy. "It's about communication! I mean, far be it from me to judge – I only got a _doctorate_ in the subject of sexual relationships, after all – but it kind of feels like this could be pretty easily resolved if you just talked to him about it."

"It-it-it doesn't matter what you think, or what's healthy, or what seems like the obvious God-damned solution!" said Morty, turning around and slamming his fist against a nearby tree. "Rick isn't like other people! He's cold, and distant, and arrogant, and-and-and the biggest fucking _asshole_ in the universe. Maybe even the multiverse! You can't show even a tiny little smidge of vulnerability without him crushing it like a human trash compactor!"

Buggy tilted his head to the side. "So, uh, if that's all true, then shouldn't you hate him?"

"I _do!"_ answered Morty. He wasn't sure why he was suddenly shouting. It was like a hole had been poked in the carefully-constructed dam repressing his tension and frustration, and it was growing with every passing second. "I hate his fucking guts! There-there are days when I just want to pin him down and _beat him to death!"_

"Okay, uh, wow," said Buggy, clearly not sure what to say.

"I did it, once," said Morty with a wistful smile. "Or tried to, anyway; it turned out to be a fake gun. I didn't- I wasn't saving anyone. If anything, him actually dying would have just guaranteed that me and my sister died, too. But when I pulled the trigger, and he fell to the ground, it was the most _incredible_ feeling." He could feel his genitals stirring in his leaf-pants from the memory. On many levels, Morty recognized that such a response to that particular memory was _immensely_ fucked up, but then, what about his relationship with Rick _wasn't?_ "So much tension, so much anger, all gone, just like that! I mean, he didn't stay 'dead' long enough for what I'd done to sink in, so maybe I would have regretted it, but for just that brief moment, I was _thrilled."_

"Umm," said Buggy, backing away. "Uh, okay, umm, yeah, that's, uh… Why are you with him, again?"

With his frustrations successfully expelled, Morty was left to calmly consider the question he was being asked. Why _was_ he in love with Rick?

He turned around to continue walking, taking a long moment to consider his answer.

"Because of everything else," he said at last. "I know it sounds like I'm some kind of a battered spouse or whatever saying this, but when he isn't being an enormous asshole, he's actually not that bad. I know he acts like he doesn't care, but he really does, in his own way. On the outside, it probably looks like I'm wrapped around his finger, but Rick would go to the ends of the universe to make me happy, even if it's kind of misguided a lot of the time. I-I think my approval makes him feel validated somehow? I dunno. He'll let me down nine times out of ten, but when it really counts, and I mean _really_ counts, he'll always be there, no matter what kind of a crazy risk he has to take." Morty smiled. "Don't tell him I told you, but he'd die for me in a heartbeat. He'd-he'd deny it if you asked, of course. At the end of the day, though? He's my best friend, and I love him more than anyone else in the multiverse."

"Wow," said Buggy. "Pardon my language, but _holy shit._ That doesn't sound healthy. Like, at _all."_

"I'm in love with my own grandpa," said Morty. "It was never going to be healthy, and I don't need it to be. It makes me happy, and that's the only thing that matters to me."

"Does it make him happy, though?"

Morty scoffed. "Rick doesn't do things that don't make him happy. If he wasn't interested, he wouldn't have agreed to get together."

Buggy scratched his head. "But didn't you just say he'd do anything to make you happy?"

Morty's smile fell. "What?"

"Okay, don't be mad, but it sounds a little to me like your grandpa is a sampler platter of psychological issues," said Buggy. Morty nodded slowly. He couldn't say that was an inaccurate assessment. "But it also sounds like he places a really high value on your opinion of him. Like, to an almost obsessive degree. You said you were the one who initiated things, right?" Morty's blood ran cold. "Is it possible he only agreed to an incestuous relationship with his own grandchild because he was worried that rejecting you might drive you away?"

"Wha- No!" said Morty quickly. "He-he wouldn't! There's no way he would…"

Morty thought back to some of his other memories with Rick, his hand coming to his mouth as though he were afraid he might throw up. Rick, who loved him more than anyone else. Rick, who would drink until he completely blacked out whenever they got into a particularly heated fight. Rick, who could abandon everyone else in the universe without so much as hesitating, but would only leave in the first place if Morty agreed to come with him.

"Actually, I guess that would be pretty silly," said Buggy, much to Morty's relief. "I mean, who would be willing to completely disregard their own psychological wellbeing to such an extreme degree? You'd pretty much have to completely hate yourself. We're talking some _serious_ self-loathing, here. Like, the kind that makes him feel like you're his only reason for living."

"Y-yeah," said Morty, forcing himself to laugh even as his face went ghostly pale. "He'd-he'd have to…"

He swallowed the lump in his throat. Had he inadvertently _pressured_ his grandfather into this? When Rick had agreed to give being a couple a go, Morty had felt so, _so_ happy, but what if… Was he…

Was he _hurting_ Rick?

Morty clutched his chest.

"So anyway, what do human penises look like? I've never actually seen one before," said Buggy.

"I'm- I don't really want to talk anymore," said Morty, eyes focused on the ground. "Come on, we-we have to go get that egg."

"Wait, what?" said Buggy, stopping in his tracks. "Are you _nuts?_ Did you not _see_ the same dragons I did? I thought we were looking for a way back to base!"

"Not a chance," said Morty, eager to change the subject. "We came this far, didn't we?"

"We nearly died! I'm pretty sure I broke every bone in my body!"

Morty raised an eyebrow. "You have an exoskeleton."

"Okay, every bone _outside_ my body. You get the idea," said Buggy. "The point is, these things are _crazy_ strong, and we are _crazy_ weak. Can't we go home and come back later, when we've got the power to take these things on?"

"If-if-if you wanna go back, go right ahead," said Morty with a shrug. Those dragons were scary, sure, but they weren't even in his top fifty most frightening experiences. Hell, the very fact that he was in no _real_ danger, simulated pain aside, kept them pretty close to the bottom of his lengthy list of traumas. "I'll just get it without you."

"Wait, what? I can't go back on my own!" whined Buggy. "What if some other players find me?"

"Look, I'm not gonna sit here and listen to you debate this back and forth with yourself," said Morty, walking off. "I'm going."

"Wait, no, don't leave me behind! Uh, umm, _ahg!"_

Morty didn't need to look back; he could hear the pitter patter of nervous footsteps reluctantly following after him.

"We should have called you Jerry," he murmured.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing."

Morty could tell from the smell of smoke in the air that they were getting closer.

"Did they seriously just spawn in last night?" said Morty, stepping carefully through the sea of ash and blackened leaves. His bare feet had been blackened by hot soot, and he regretted not asking Rick to make him shoes before he left.

"I regret everything," said Buggy, who was shivering like a Chihuahua. "Oh my God."

"There is no God," said Morty reflexively, like he was so accustomed to the response that he had to ensure it was said even if it wasn't ordinarily his line.

It hardly mattered, anyway; Buggy was too busy glancing around like he honestly expected creatures the size of buildings to pop out of the bushes and surprise him to notice the comment. Morty, on the other hand, chose to focus on the route ahead, though he remained alert to the sounds of their surroundings.

The further they progressed, the hotter it got. The air was thick with the smell of burning wood, and the dirt was almost entirely soot.

"Weird," said Morty. "Everything is charred to a crisp, but there's no fire."

"What, do you _want_ there to be fire, or something?"

"It's-it's kinda ruining my suspension of disbelief," said Morty. "Like, there doesn't have to be THAT much fire. Maybe just…" He hummed thoughtfully. "Two cubic tons?"

_"Two cubic tons_? _"_ repeated the Gromflomite. "Do you have any idea how much _two cubic tons of fire_ is?"

"Nope. I don't even know if fire has a weight," said Morty. "I'm just kind of on a roll with outdated references today. Rick's always so anal about relevant and timeless humor, so it's- I have to take advantage of the opportunity to use this kind of material while I can, you know?"

"Wait, so the joke is that you're acknowledging how bad the joke is?"

"No, _now_ the joke is- it's that we're acknowledging that joking about how bad the joke is is a lame joke."

"Wait, but- I can't even- I just- _What?"_

Morty was about to respond when a massive hunk of mountainside came into view. Smoke billowed out of what appeared to be the mouth of a cave along the ground. Morty quickly took cover behind a piece of charcoal that appeared to have once been a tree, and Buggy followed suit.

"I think that's it," said Morty. "But is there any way of knowing if it has eggs inside? Like, would they have even laid them yet?"

"Female dragons lay eggs every morning in the spring," said Buggy. "If there's a female in that cave, there are eggs."

"How do you tell the difference?"

"I think the female ones are bigger."

"Bigger than what? The males?" demanded Morty. "I-I need a frame of reference, here!"

Buggy shrugged. Morty sighed.

"Looks like we're just gonna have to take a gamble on this one," said Morty. "Anyway, I took a stealth perk, so I'll go get the egg."

"Oh, nice! I'll just wait out-"

"That means you get to be the diversion," said Morty, internally rubbing his palms together with glee. It felt ridiculously good to be the one coming up with the plan and calling the shots for once. "You- I need you to go make some noise to draw it out of the cave."

"Wait, what?" said Buggy, looking horrified. His face danglers twitched with fear. "But-"

"Calm down and listen to me, Buggy," said Morty, taking the Gromflomite by the shoulders. Damn it, how was he supposed to get a complete moron to stop panicking and listen long enough to do what he was told? "I know that new situations can be intimidating. You're looking around, and it's all scary and different, but, you know, meeting them head-on, charging into them like a bull, that's how we grow as people! I'm no stranger to scary situations, I deal with them all the time! Now if you just stick… With… Me… Wait, where have I heard this before?" He shook his head. "You know what? It doesn't even matter. I'm not leaving without an egg, so you can either create a diversion, or we'll just have to sit here until another dragon finds and eats us."

"Aww, man."

* * *

 

"Ooooh, I'm a tasty dragon treat! I'm really small, and I'm made of meat!"

Morty facepalmed from his hiding spot by the mouth of the cave as Buggy began his 'diversion,' which consisted of standing out in the open singing and banging a pair of rocks together. Not the kind of strategy Morty would have picked in real life, but hey, if he wanted to get himself killed, more power to him.

A massive, scaly green head poked itself out of the cave, teeth bared in a wolfish snarl as it slowly stepped forth. Buggy froze as the dragon's glowing golden eyes locked on to his comparably tiny frame, and for a moment, Morty almost wondered if the game was lagging from the way the whole world seemed to come to a halt.

The dragon roared, and Buggy took off screaming like a little girl. It raced after him, shaking the ground with every step. Morty didn't waste time watching the chase; he hurried into the cave, covering his mouth and keeping low as the smell of smoke filled his nostrils.

It was pitch black inside, but luckily for Morty, he'd just acquired a night vision spell. Though healing Buggy had drained him, his mana had recovered quite a bit over their hike up the mountain. He could only hope it was enough to last him the time it took to get in and out of the cave.

"Night Vision," he whispered to activate the spell. There was a strange sensation in his eyes. The shroud of shadows seemed to lift, replaced by washed-out grays.

Even though he knew his footsteps were silenced by one of his passives, force of habit had him treading lightly as he wandered deeper into the twisting cavern. From the damp, mossy walls, he would have expected it to be cold, but whatever the dragons had done had left it positively sweltering. Morty wiped the sweat from his brow and scurried forth, vaulting skillfully over the slimy boulders in his way.

Just when he was beginning to wonder if there was any end in sight, he found himself rounding a corner that left him squinting in response to a sudden bright light. With his night vision activated, it was little more than a blur, so he cut off the mana flow to the spell to get a better look.

The source of the light appeared to be a massive hoard of smooth, brightly-glowing rocks almost as large as Morty's torso. Upon close inspection, it appeared that they weren't rocks at all, but instead…

"Eggs!" said Morty, pumping his fist as he approached. Eager to get out of there before the dragon returned, he reached out to grab one off of the pile, only to cry out and jerk his hand back. It felt like he'd just placed his hand on a burning stove! _"Motherfucker!_ Shitshitshitfuckshit-"

He bit down on his tongue, still hissing with pain as his palms throbbed. It wouldn't do any good to heal it just yet, though. With a deep breath and shaky hands, Morty opened up his bag as best as he was able, steeled his nerve, and yanked the egg into the palm leaf pouch. If he had the time, he might have looked for something to protect his palms, but who knew how long Buggy would be able to keep that thing distracted?

"Jesus _fucking_ Christ!" he gasped, quickly healing his hands the moment the egg was tucked safely away in his bag. He would have grabbed a second while he was there, but just the one was taking up his entire bag. That, and he wasn't sure how long the palm leaves would hold up before they caught fire. Had Rick not been aware just how hot they were when he sent Morty to carry them back in a flammable pouch?

Morty turned around only to stop dead in his tracks as he heard the distinct sound of massive rocks being shunted out of the way by even more enormous feet.

_Shit._

His eyes flitted quickly about in search of a hiding spot, but unlike the route to get there, the nesting cavern was open and empty. The eggs were stacked against a wall, and trying to hide in the pile would certainly burn him to death. With his heart thudding rapidly in his chest, Morty slipped into the shadows and pressed himself against the wall closest to the exit, shivering as the slimy surface touched his bare back. With each passing second, the temperature seemed to rise. His breath caught in his throat as the sound of claws against stone grew closer.

_Click. Click. Click._

"Night Vision," he murmured while he still had the chance, his voice barely more than a gentle breath. He would need it activated if he had to make a break for it.

Morty's eyes widened as the creature approached. It was a vibrant ruby red, whereas the other one had been green, making it clear that it wasn't even the same dragon as before. As though that weren't enough, this one was noticeably larger than the first. Had the other one been its mate?

Morty desperately wanted to slip by, but the dragon's massive girth was taking up most of the exit tunnel, and she didn't seem to be in any hurry to budge. Just a little further, and she would be far enough inside the open nesting cavern for him to squeeze through, but she seemed far more interested in sniffing the air than moving. Morty pursed his lips. Dragons couldn't count, right? And anyway, there were tons of eggs in that pile. There was no way she would notice just one-

The dragon's eyes locked onto the pile of eggs. Her yellow eyes glowed brighter as she opened her mouth and let out a roar that thundered so loudly throughout the cavern that it ruptured Morty's eardrums.

The dragon hurried over to her nest, and Morty, his ears still ringing, darted off the moment he saw an opening. Fortunately, his footsteps made no noise.

Unfortunately, he was also barefoot.

"HRK!" he choked out as his heel came down on a particularly sharp rock. The dragon's head snapped around in response. "Oh, fuck me…"

The dragon let out another ear-splitting roar as it ran after him. Morty gasped for breath as he struggled to outrun the beast with the weight of the stolen egg hanging over his hip.

_"Tireless Sprint!"_

He just barely made it around the next turn in time to avoid the torrent of fire it spewed after him. It was a struggle to keep his balance at such a speed when the ground beneath him was so damp and slippery, but it wasn't like he had much choice, given that the alternative was almost certain death. Morty winced each time he skidded painfully across the rough ground.

"Come-come get me, motherfucker!" Morty shouted as the dragon pulled its head back to let loose another blast of flame. He ducked behind a rock to escape the attack, silently wishing that his single attack spell wasn't a barrage of flammable fucking leaves.

At long last, the mouth of the cave was in sight. Saliva flew from Morty's gasping mouth as the last of his mana was used up, forcing him back into reliance on his subpar stamina.

_Whumf!_ Morty was almost blown back towards the red dragon chasing him as the green one from earlier landed at the entrance of the cave just as he reached the exit. There wasn't time to question Buggy's fate, nor to bemoan his rotten luck. He kept running forward even as one of its massive claws quickly descended on him from overhead, an attack he only managed to avoid by slipping between its legs.

Even after making it outside, he couldn't afford to rest; he had two dragons after him now, and they were out for blood. If Rick were there, Morty was sure he'd probably have some ingenious way out of the situation, if not a way to avoid detection entirely, but Morty was on his own for this one. There was no way he could keep outrunning them; though the perk he'd taken had him running at speeds an Olympian would envy, he couldn't keep up the pace for much longer. He had to lose them by going somewhere they couldn't follow.

Morty wove back and forth between the trees as he ran. The density of the singed forest slowed his pursuers, but only a little; they were quick to knock over or fire-blast whatever foliage dared to get in their way.

At long last, fortune seemed to smile upon him when he spotted a narrow crack in the mountainside. It would be a tight fit, especially with the egg in tow, but the dragons wouldn't be able to follow him in. He could only pray it was deep enough to avoid the flames they would no doubt fire off after him, lest he end up cooked alive. It was a risk, for sure, but it was the best chance he had.

Morty squeezed himself into the crevice, carefully pulling the egg in behind him in an effort to keep from cracking it. The dragons roared after him as he slipped further and further out of reach, their claws desperately scratching at the tight entryway as though they could simply shovel the stone out of the way.

Morty continued inward until he could go no further, at least not without paying homage to _The Enigma of Amigara Fault._ He leaned against the wall and slid down into a sitting position, panting heavily as the dragons snapped furiously at the entrance.

"Geez," he breathed, pulling his bag off of his shoulder to inspect the egg. It was hard to tell without touching it, but it looked to be in pretty good condition. "This'd better be some amazing fertilizer, Rick..."

For a moment, Morty allowed himself to be swept up in thoughts of his grandfather. He practically drooled at the thought of the praise that was sure to come of nailing this. Surely not even _Rick_ would be able to find something to complain about. Not only had he retrieved the egg, but Buggy had presumably been eaten. Two birds with one stone, indeed.

It wasn't long, however, before certain _other_ thoughts began to surface. Deceased or not, the Gromflomite's words still echoed in his head, haunting his fantasies.

_"Does it make him happy, though?"_

"Rick…" murmured Morty, curling up in a fetal position to mope, the gnashing teeth outside all but forgotten. "You-you wouldn't do this if you didn't want it, right?" He buried his face in his knees. "I'm not- I'm not just grossing you out or something, am I? You wouldn't have- You'd never have agreed to this if you thought it was disgusting."

For as much as Morty tried to assure himself that this was the case, he couldn't stop thinking back to all the times Rick had been quick to avoid physical contact beyond a few token gestures.

"Fuck," he murmured, and for a moment, he was tempted to throw himself straight down the dragon's throat.

He had to have a talk with his grandfather. He had to ask if it was true! But how could he, when he was so afraid to hear the answer?

* * *

 

Morty had no idea how long he spent holed up in that tiny cavern. Well, he figured it was only about an hour or two, at most, but he'd dozed off about twenty minutes in, so it was hard to tell.

The short nap had done wonders for his mana, though he was still quite tired. He wasn't particularly eager to make the hike back to base camp, even if Rick _had_ made improvements to how easy it was to scale it.

It wasn't until he noticed his ears were still ringing that he remembered that he'd forgotten to heal his ruptured eardrums, in addition to the rest of the bumps and scrapes he'd gotten along the way. Morty took a moment to do just that before poking his head cautiously out through the hole he'd taken shelter in. The dragons seemed to have given up, but just to be sure, he picked up a rock from the ground and chucked it out into the open to see if it got a response.

Seconds ticked by, then minutes. The coast seemed clear enough. Morty returned to collect his bag, only to notice that it had been burned into a black, crispy heap by the egg.

"God damn it," cursed Morty. How was he supposed to carry it now?

Tired, filthy, and frustrated, Morty quietly stepped outside to poke around the surrounding area in search of a solution to his problem. There were a few vines that had somehow gone un-scorched; he supposed he could try to weave some together into a shitty makeshift bag.

He tugged at the vines and frowned. They were actually pretty hard to rip off, and he didn't have anything to cut them with. Maybe a sharp rock? Morty took another look around until he found a stone with a flat, somewhat pointed edge that he supposed might do the trick.

Just as he was about to begin sawing at the vine, however, he was interrupted by yet another obstacle.

"Hands in the air!"

Morty dropped the rock he was holding and slowly raised his hands up above his head.

"Now turn around. _Slowly."_

Morty turned. What awaited him was a group of three unfamiliar aliens, each one clothed in leather and equipped with bags. In the center was a tiny green Traflorkian with a blade about the size of a knife, though proportionately it worked as a sword for its wielder. To his left was a yellow-green Garblovian with a blonde mane wielding a club; whatever perks he'd taken appeared to have provided him with longer horns, a pair of leathery black wings, and a demonic tail. To the right was a skinny orange Blamph that seemed to have taken on centaur-like attributes, albeit an alien centaur with orange and blue fur. Her bow was drawn and aimed straight at Morty's chest.

"Oh, wow, he looks just like that guy, you know, on the news, and stuff!" said the Blamph excitedly. She lowered her weapon. "Is it really you? You know, _Morty Smith?_ Oh my gosh, that would be so cool!"

Morty was admittedly flattered by the notion that someone not only knew of, but was also excited to see him, but he wasn't about to let his guard down in the face of danger. Before he could ask what they wanted with him, however, the Traflorkian responded:

"Of course it isn't the _real_ Morty Smith. Just because someone models their avatar after a famous person doesn't mean they're the real deal, Blingo Blongo!"

"Gargahblagh!" said the Garblovian.

"Oh, for the love of-" sighed the Traflorkian. "Come _on,_ GlorpDieBlorp. It's just another edgelord looking for attention!" Morty blinked. 'Edgelord?' This person considered people masquerading as _Morty Smith_ to be _'edgelords?'_ "Now keep that bow on him while I go through his shit!"

"You, uh, you might be a little disappointed," said Morty as the Traflorkian put his knife back in its holster to frisk him. "I-I don't really have a lot- I don't have anything on me yet."

"He even stammers!" said Blingo Blongo excitedly.

"Just great, a roleplayer," groaned the Traflorkian. "Stick to the RP servers, Cringelord."

"I'm not roleplaying!" said Morty, indignant. "This-this is- I can't help how I talk!"

"Yeah, you might wanna stop making a fool out of yourself," said the Traflorkian quietly, looking disappointed as he reached down Morty's shorts. "GlorpDieBlorp is recording, and, not to brag, but we've got a _ton_ of subscribers.  There are probably at least a million people watching this right now."

"Recording?" said Morty. He'd known it was a game, but it was still somewhat surprising to run into a group of streamers. It just hadn't really occurred to him that virtual reality could be shared with others. "Recording with what?"

"Gaggablaghblagh!" said GlorpDieBlorp. Morty was still struggling with his Garblovian – it was a highly contextual language where meaning could shift dramatically depending on pitch, volume, and tone – but he recognized the words 'first,' 'person,' and 'camera.' Was it just recording whatever he saw, then?

"Oh man," snickered the Traflorkian as he stepped back to look up at Morty. "Leaf hair? Did you seriously pick Dryad's Sap on a PVP server? No wonder this guy hasn't got any shit!  He's a total noob!"

Morty didn't have time for this; he needed to get that egg and get out before the dragons came back. "Heh, well, it's, uh, it's kind of my first time playing. Do you mind going easy on me?"

"Yeah, Airlock, let's leave him alone," said Blingo with a dismissive hand wave. "He doesn't have anything worth taking, anyway."

"Doesn't have anything?" said the Traflorkian who was apparently named Airlock. A username, maybe?  Actually, if they were streamers, that meant all their names were probably just web handles.  It was hard to tell with interplanetary names sometimes.  In any case, Airlock waved his knife-sword-thing in Morty's face, a rather entertaining sight considering he had to reach upwards to do so. "He's a dryad! He's got a tree somewhere! I say we get him to lead us to it!"

Damn it, they just _had_ to be pains in the ass. Morty rubbed his temples, watching carefully to see if they responded to him bringing down his arms. It didn't appear to concern them.

Heh.  _Amateurs._

"Look, man, I don't want any trouble," he began. "But I'm warning you right now, I just got finished running from two dragons, and I'm _not_ in the mood to deal with this. Just leave me alone. Final- Last warning!"

Airlock burst into laughter.

"Oh man, if only I could see the comments right now!" he cackled. "You're kidding, right? I mean, there are three of us, and only-"

Morty rolled his eyes, seized Airlock's wrist, and twisted his arm around until he dropped the knife to the ground. Before Blingo could so much as raise her bow, he picked up the weapon, wrapped an arm around the Traflorkian's puffy waist, and hoisted him into the air with the blade at his throat like a living shield.

"Drop your weapons and bags," ordered Morty.

After a moment of stunned silence, the two remaining streamers hastily placed their belongings on the ground.

"Good," said Morty. "Now back off."

"Holy shit," said Blingo Blongo, giggling madly. For a moment, Morty questioned her sanity, only to remember that it was just a video game. Even after being told that they were a group of streamers, it was alarmingly easy to forget when everything was in virtual reality. "Airlock, you just got us fucking _wrecked,_ dude!"

"Shut the fuck up, Blingo!" grumbled Airlock.

Without releasing his hostage, Morty stepped forward and placed the handle of the knife between his teeth before carefully crouching down to place the bags, bow, and quiver of arrows over his shoulders with his free arm. The club was too heavy for him to carry along with everything else, so he kicked it further behind him solely so that it couldn't be used against him later.

He plucked the knife back out of his mouth and pointed it at GlorpDieBlorp and Blingo Blongo. "Now-now I want you two to back it up, and I mean _way_ the fuck up. When you're far enough away that we can't see each other, I'll let your friend go. If any of you come back into my line of sight, though, I _will_ shoot, so if you know what's good for you, I won't be seeing you again after this. Understand?"

"Blagh!" said a terrified-looking GlorpDieBlorp. Morty was surprised he hadn't exploded into goo yet, as was typical of frightened or excited Garblovians. Maybe the game just wouldn't allow his avatar to do so?

Blingo Blongo, still barely able to contain her laughter, raised her hands in surrender. "I ain't even mad."

The pair quickly shuffled off and around the bend. Once they were far enough away, Morty shoved Airlock forward and went for the bow.

"Now it's your turn to back off," said Morty, nocking an arrow.

"Yeah, yeah, fuck you," said the Traflorkian with a scowl as he hurried after his friends, his metaphorical tail tucked between his legs.

Morty was on guard for several minutes more before he finally put the bow away. That had gone about as well as it could have been, but he wasn't in the clear yet. There were still a fuckton of dragons around, and he needed to get out of there as soon as possible.

He returned to the crevice where he'd left the dragon egg and began rifling through the bags he'd stolen; two messenger-style bags and a backpack. In real life, he might have felt a little guilty about taking all their shit, but it was just a game, and they _had_ started it.

There wasn't a whole lot of high-level loot to be had, at least as far as he could tell. That was unsurprising, given that it had only been about a day since the match began. Still, there were a few snacks and tools made of actual metal, albeit with wooden handles. Morty decided to consolidate the contents of the backpack into the messenger bags, leaving it empty for egg-carrying.  Given that leather was flammable, he peeled a sheet of wet moss off of the cave walls to line the inside. He used yet another few pieces of moss to act as potholders of sorts, shielding his hands from the heat of the egg as he transferred it into the bag.

With a messenger back over each shoulder, a backpack over both, and a bow in hand, the simple act of walking was clumsy and awkward. Morty exhaled. He wasn't looking forward to the trip home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! Another longer-than-usual chapter this time around, and this time it's actually slightly early! This one's dedicated to those of you who thought Morty needed a win after all this crap. :P Thanks for reading, and as usual, please heed my humble plea for feedback! It only takes a few seconds to a minute or two at most. Don't be afraid to be honest! I'm willing to accept criticism.
> 
> Fun little side-note: The Garblovian, GlorpDieBlorp, is actually meant to be the one from Ten Tuesdays at Tinkles. All three aliens are show-canon species, though only GlorpDieBlorp is a canon(-ish) character. In case you don't remember and don't feel like looking it up for reference images, the Traflorkians are the little puffy green ones Rick invited over to his party and welcomed inside with "What up, my glip-glops!" The Blamphs are from the plumbus scene in Interdimensional Cable II.


	7. Rise of the Drama Llama

Rick had been right (unsurprisingly) about the AI aggro range being forgiving for the first couple days. Morty had very narrowly avoided all manner of terrible creatures on his way back to the base. He didn't know what half of them were even called, and he wasn't sure he needed to when the names he'd come up with on his own probably did a way better job of summarizing their horrific appearances; 'rhino-bear hybrid on steroids,' for example. Oh, and who could forget 'giant acid-spitting mantis shrimp that is also on fire?'

Between trying to avoid monsters and lugging around three players' worth of loot, it ended up taking him hours to get down from Dragon Mountain and back home to the one they'd placed their base on top of. He prayed that the easier means to get to the top that Rick had promised him wasn't just a shitty vine ladder, because there was no way he was going to be able to make that kind of a climb with all the weight he had strapped to his back.

Fortunately, it seemed his grandfather had come up with a much better solution. As Morty approached the first cliff, he immediately noticed a platform of sticks tied haphazardly together. It was hanging about an inch off of the ground, suspended in the air by vines from a series of wooden pulleys up at the top. The other end of the vine dangled down within grabbing distance. Morty pulled down on the vine, and the platform beneath him began to rise.

As Morty ascended, he didn't waste time on contemplating just how dead he would be if the vine rope slipped from his hands; he'd just gotten back from fighting a dragon, after all. Upon reaching the top and stepping back onto solid ground, he pulled both the platform and the rope along with him to keep them out of reach of any other players for the night. A second platform and pulley system awaited him to get up the next cliff, and he repeated the process.

Though the laws of simple machines had kept Morty from expending too much energy on the way up, he was still exhausted by the time he reached the wall of logs Rick had constructed. Tiny, squirrel-like alien critters scurried out of sight as he made his way towards it and knocked on the sloppily-constructed gate.

After a brief moment, there was a sound of something being unlatched from the other side, and the gate swung open.

"Took you long enough," said Rick. Morty snorted as he entered the gate and his grandfather closed it behind him. "Did the dragons make you work overtime?"

"Well, somebody's gotta put bread on the table," said Morty.

His eyes drifted over the improvements Rick had made to their campsite. On one end, the beginnings of a tiny garden were already starting to form; Rick appeared to have transplanted several useful bushes and such from the surrounding forest. On the other end was a small round hut made of sticks, mud, and leaves. A fire crackled not too far away in a decently-sized pit with a hunk of mystery meat already cooking over it on a stick.

"Can't help but notice that you're missing someone," said Rick with a grin as Morty plopped himself down by the fire and began taking bags off. "Sheesh, where'd all those come from?"

"Buggy got eaten, and then a couple streamers tried to ambush me," said Morty casually, rolling his shoulders to combat the soreness. "Thanks for sending me dragon-hunting on a flammable hang-glider, by the way. I-I-I had a blast almost falling to my death."

"Don't mention it," said Rick, sitting down beside Morty to begin looking through his bags. "Let's see, here. Shitty low-level bow, shitty low-level knife… The tools are _kind_ of useful, I guess, but it's mostly garbage. I mean, it's only day one, so that isn't too surprising, but why'd you even bother bringing these crap-tier weapons back?"

"Well, I needed _something_ to defend myself after I lost my spear in a five hundred foot free-fall."

Rick raised one half of his unibrow. "What, you pulled out a measuring tape to check?"

"It's-it's an educated guess," grumbled Morty. He shoved the egg bag over in Rick's direction. "Anyway, I got your stupid egg. You're welcome."

"Huh, I guess you did. Nice job, Morty!" said Rick, ruffling Morty's hair and immediately wiping any and all sense of animosity from his thirsty grandson's brain.

"Y-yeah," stammered Morty, turning his head away to conceal his blush. Rick quickly removed his hand, but it was far too late for take-backs; Morty was already in paradise just replaying the sensation repeatedly in his head.

He wanted more. He _needed_ more. He yearned to hold Rick's hand, and hug him, and kiss him, and…

_"Does it make him happy, though?"_ echoed Buggy's words in his head for the umpteenth time.

"Rick," began Morty shakily. He didn't want to ask. He _didn't want to know._ "I need to- I mean, we- I- You-"

"Jesus, Morty, I know you've got the family stutter, but at least get your thoughts together before you talk. You sound like a lagging Youtube video," said Rick, taking a closer look at the egg. "What's with the moss lining the bag?"

"It's really hot," said Morty, still trying to formulate how he was going to pop the question. "It burned up the bag you made me earlier."

Rick's eyes narrowed, and he carefully tipped the bag to let the egg slowly slide out onto the ground. "That's weird. It shouldn't be hot yet, unless… Morty, how many dragons were living in the cave you stole this from?"

"Uh, two, I think."

Rick grinned, and Morty could only stare in confusion.

"Well, the bad news is that you fucked up, and we can't use this for fertilizer."

"Excuse me?" said Morty incredulously. "I followed your instructions _to. The. Letter._ If-if-if I 'fucked something up,' isn't that on _you?"_

"Nope," said Rick. Morty scowled. _God,_ what an asshole, staring down at Morty with those judgmental, predatory, and just plain _gorgeous_ eyes. He loved the way his already prominent laugh lines deepened even more when he smiled, and the way he always managed to look full of energy even though his wrinkles formed permanent bags under his eyes…

Wait, what were they talking about, again? Oh, right, the egg!

"Anyway, the good news is that your fuck-up might actually work out in the long run," said Rick. "Don't bother asking how; you'll get it soon enough. Just help me bring back some rocks. I'm gonna need you to make a magic altar at the crafting table."

"What about dinner? I haven't eaten all day!"

Rick rotated the skewered mystery meat still cooking over the fire. "If you wanna eat undercooked yorpy, be my guest. Just don't come bitching to me when you start shitting out your own intestines. And I mean that literally, by the way; some of the parasites you can catch from these things cause rectal prolapse."

The next half an hour or so was spent hauling rocks of all sizes back to camp. For as tired as Morty was, the whole 'being praised and hair-ruffled by Rick earlier for doing a good job' high had him more than willing to assist even so.

As they worked, they chatted about their respective days. Rick was more than happy to boast about everything he'd managed to accomplish in the span of a day despite his lack of access to modern amenities, as well as his plans for the future. The hut, as it turned out, was just a temporary shelter while they gathered the materials to start constructing a fortress worthy to be called their base of operations. Among his checklist of future necessities were proper defenses, beds that weren't made of moss, and proper toilet paper.

Eventually, however, the conversation shifted back to Morty's little dragon adventure.

"Streamers?" said Rick, a sizable boulder in his clawed hands. "Did you get their usernames?"

"Uh, Airlock, Blingo Blongo, and GlorpDieBlorp, I think," said Morty, carrying a much smaller rock about the size of a soccer ball. "Why?"

"Oh man, for real?" said Rick, snickering. "I mean, I don't- I'm not usually the type of person to watch Let's Plays, but those three are pretty big, at least as far as intergalactic internet fame goes. I'm kind of surprised you haven't heard of them before."

"The translator extension I use doesn't cover writing systems from outside of the Milky Way," admitted Morty. "I-I keep meaning to install a better one, but I just haven't gotten around to it, you know?"

"Are you seriously telling me you haven't watched _anything_ on Borbalorbtube? Well, your loss," said Rick, only to grin. "Wanna check out the comments from the recording?"

"Wait, we can use the internet while we play?"

"Sort of," said Rick, setting his boulder down to open the gate to their base before lifting it back up again. "Remember how I told you that your perception of time changes when you play these games? Because of that, you can't really use the regular internet; if you posted a comment, you'd be waiting what feels like years for a reply when it really just took an hour. That's why there's a VR-specific internet that can only be accessed while you're using the console. Most of the comments won't be in until the match is over and the footage gets slowed down and uploaded for the regular internet, but we'll still get to see the reactions from other people watching live from their virtual houses and internet cafes in Korteksland."

"And we can access it from here?" said Morty.

"Yeah, you just have to call Zeta. Remember the- Remember that seemingly inconsequential character, Morty? You know, the stupid little mascot from chapter one that you've already forgotten about?" said Rick.

"Chapter- The fuck are you talking about?" said Morty. Of course he remembered Zeta. After all, it had only been about a day or so since they'd first entered the Korteks Zeta 10 and met the tiny, somewhat snarky AI. It wasn't like he was reading some story where weeks were passing between updates, by which point he'd have surely completely forgotten that the game system they were using even had a named mascot to begin with.

Rick placed his boulder in the pile, then held up his hand. "Zeta, pull up the in-game browser."

_"Activating in-game browser!"_ said a familiar, cutesy, and gender-ambiguous voice from seemingly nowhere. A window popped up in front of Rick and floated there. He expanded it with his fingers and turned it so Morty could see. Sure enough, it was a regular old browser with its homepage set to a website full of alien text, only some of which Morty could actually read.

"Zeta, give me a mouse and keyboard, too; browsing with a touchscreen is a pain in the ass."

_"Which kind of keyboard would you like?"_

"I can type with a Garblovian keyboard, but translate all on-screen text to English using the Latin alphabet from planet Earth."

A floating keyboard appeared, along with a mouse that appeared to be sitting on some invisible surface. Rick clicked the URL and typed in a replacement. For a moment, he navigated through a website with a bunch of video thumbnails before reaching a page that included a picture of a familiar Garblovian, Blamph, and Traflorkian. From there, he navigated to their most recent stream, unchecked 'Live,' and began backing through to previous timestamps until slightly before a point where Morty's unamused face flickered across the screen.

As it was being recorded from GlorpDieBlorp's point of view, only Blingo Blongo and Airlock were visible on screen. It was a little surreal for Morty to see himself on from behind in footage he hadn't even been aware was being taken as they watched him try to slice through vines with a rock from behind some distant trees.

_"Okay, so, for those of you just joining us now, here's the deal,"_ said Airlock to the 'camera' in a hushed tone. _"Blamph's player detection perk isn't picking up on anyone else in the area, so we're gonna jump this guy while he's still alone. Sucks for him, but, well, that's hardcore mode for you. Blingo, get your bow out!"_

"Oh, come _on,_ Morty, you should have seen them coming from a mile away," said Rick, much to Morty's embarrassment.

"I'd just finished running from dragons! Cut-cut-cut me a little slack, I was tired!"

The video continued to play, but since Morty already knew exactly what had happened, he focused more on Rick's face to try to gauge his reaction. As Blingo began to gush about how, 'Oh, it's _Morty Smith!'_ and Airlock began chewing Morty out for trying to 'roleplay,' Rick's impassive stare finally broke into a smile.

"They aren't even reacting to you putting your hands down!" said Rick, snickering derisively. "And holy shit, are you seeing the live chat?"

Morty turned his gaze to the chatbox as it had been recorded at the time of the incident.

**GimmeFlarpcorn:** oms

**killdeath38:** criiiiiiiiiiinge

**SomeBorb:** This is just mean.

**GimmeFlarpcorn:** i don't think he recognizes them

**SomeBorb:** He doesn't even know he's being streamed.

**YUPYUP:** this is so cringey

**killdeath38:** criiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinge

**SomeBorb:** What's Airlock whispering to him? I can't hear?

**WhySoSour:** I heard the word 'stream'

**WhySoSour:** I think he's telling him he's being recorded

**YUPYUP:** he's still doing the stammer

**YUPYUP:** glipglop's dedicated, I'll give him that

**killdeath38:** criiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinge

**GimmeFlarpcorn:** killdeath stfu

**WhySoSour:** Killdeath, stop spamming the chat

**killdeath38:** it's tru tho

**YUPYUP:** it really is

**SomeBorb:** PLOT TWIST: It really IS Morty Smith!

**WhySoSour:** LOL

**GimmeFlarpcorn:** lulz

**YUPYUP:** lolno

**YUPYUP:** he's not even doing the stammer right

**WhySoSour:** How would you even know

**YUPYUP:** cuz

**killdeath38:** great

**killdeath38:** another R&M 'expert'

**killdeath38:** YUPYUP criiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinge

**YUPYUP:** fuck you your USERNAME is cringey

**GimmeFlarpcorn:** plot twist: yupyup is morty smith

It was around that point in the stream that Morty managed to grab hold of Airlock and threaten him with the knife. Rick's grin widened, and Morty would be lying if he said that it wasn't strangely satisfying to see the chat (the same one that had previously been debating if he was even stammering correctly) collectively flip their shit.

**SomeBorb:** HOLY SHIT

**GimmeFlarpcorn:** damn son

**YUPYUP:** ok um wow

**killdeath38:** omfs

**killdeath38:** un-cringe! un-cringe!

**WhySoSour:** LOLOLOLOL IM DYING

**YUPYUP:** rekt

**WhySoSour:** I don't get it

**WhySoSour:** Are they just playing along or

**SomeBorb:** I think he's actually got them?

**SomeBorb:** I mean, unless they're gonna sacrifice Airlock.

**GimmeFlarpcorn:** no way

**WhySoSour:** Having an extra set of hands is way more advantageous than the material value of those weapons

**WhySoSour:** That'd be dumb

**killdeath38:** lol whysosour

**YUPYUP:** more like whysosrs

**WhySoSour:** You're just mad because you suck

**YUPYUP:** fuk off im in the top 10% of hamsop players in underignore

**killdeath38:** so like

**SomeBorb:**?

**killdeath38:** is it rlly morty smith?

**YUPYUP:** not a chance

**SomeBorb:** Uh…

**WhySoSour:** I wanna say it's just a really good player

**GimmeFlarpcorn:** lol

**WhySoSour:** But they're clearly a noob otherwise

**WhySoSour:** He rolled dryad on PVP ffs

**YUPYUP:** wtf would morty smith even be doing playing eof

**killdeath38:** even famous ppl need hobbies, lol

**SomeBorb:** I mean, it's a good game.

**WhySoSour:** Is he really gonna let airlock go

**WhySoSour:** If it were me I'd kill him after everyone left

**WhySoSour:** One less enemy

**SomeBorb:** Nope, there's Airlock now.

**killdeath38:** he really let him go

**YUPYUP:** see

**YUPYUP:** told you it wasnt him

**YUPYUP:** morty smith would have killed him

**SomeBorb:** How do you even know?

**YUPYUP:** bcuz he isn't a little bitch

"We've gotta find this Yupyup guy," mused Rick. "Five seconds in the same room as you would show him just how much of a little bitch you actually are."

"Oh, fuck off," said Morty, tossing his rock into the pile. "Anyway, this should be enough for a magic altar, right? What's the difference between it and the crafting table, again?"

"Everything you make at a crafting table could have theoretically been made by hand without one," said Rick, waving his hand and closing the browser. "Magic altars create items with special properties that can't be made normally because they-they defy all physics, Morty. There's no rhyme or reason to how they actually work beyond 'magic.' "

"Oh," said Morty, recognizing all too well that what he was about to say was just a way to bait Rick into a tangent for his own amusement. "Like-like that microwave engine that NASA said was impossible because it broke the laws of physics?"

"That's different!" said Rick as a smirking Morty approached the crafting table to begin looking through recipes. "You can't _break_ the laws of physics in _real life,_ Morty! That's fundamentally impossible! It's-it's-it's like drawing a circle that's also a square! If it looks like something is breaking the laws of physics, it just means your _understanding_ of what the laws of physics actually _are_ is fundamentally wrong!"

Morty smiled as Rick continued his rant. It never ceased to amaze him that a man so convinced that nothing meant anything could still demonstrate such bursts of passion for the silliest of subjects.

He loved how easily Rick's composure shattered when he went on such impromptu rambles, his grammar falling apart at the seams while his not-so-carefully-concealed stammer emerged in full force as his mouth struggled to keep up with his mind. It was- Could he call his own grandfather 'cute?'

He glanced back at his grandfather as he searched the crafting menu for the magic altar.

"-dumb idiots at NASA don't know the first thing about _real_ science, Morty! They-they-they're lucky they can launch a person into orbit without blowing them up. I mean, _rockets?_ Really? There's-there's no future in rocket-based propulsion! You could barely get to the next _solar system_ in their little space dinghies before you died of old age, let alone the next galaxy!"

Yep, definitely adorable.

"Have-have a little perspective, Rick," said Morty, checking the next material needed for the altar. Two Gargi shells, huh? Fortunately, he'd picked up several in the pond from where they first spawned in. "I mean, there was a time when just being able to make fire was a pretty considerable accomplishment."

"I had fire figured out by the time I could _walk,_ Morty," said Rick. "The only reason I needed textbooks to study was so I knew the names people used for concepts I'd already figured out on my own! If I'd been born a thousand years ago, the only reason that I might not have developed interdimensional travel would be because I got burned as a witch."

Morty snickered. "I wish. Anyway, we're still a couple rocks short for the altar."

As they headed out the gate to collect the last of the stone they needed, Rick gave Morty a light punch on the shoulder. "Not that I should have to remind you, Morty, but if I died, there'd be no you."

"Hm, yeah, I guess," said Morty. "And it'd probably be one of those weird dimensions where dad becomes a famous actor or something, since mom wouldn't exist, either."

"Don't even get me started on that guy," said Rick. "Uhg, I can't believe we're stuck breathing the same virtual air."

"You don't think he died by now?"

Rick's brow furrowed as he lifted up one of the last nearby boulders to return to camp. Morty, too, picked up a rock sitting on the ground, if only to feel like he was actually there for any reason beyond just wanting to spend more time with his grandfather. "If he was on his own? Yeah, he'd be dead. But he's not alone. He's with another Rick."

"Since when are we afraid of Doofus Rick?"

"We're not," said Rick as they turned around and began heading back. "On his own, Feces-Breath is a pushover, and Jerry is an idiot. Together, though? A pussy Rick is still a Rick, with all the super-intelligence that implies, and now he's Jerry's personal God-damned lapdog."

"Right," said Morty, only half paying attention. No matter how much he wanted to continue chatting with Rick, he knew that there were far more pressing matters than their video game woes to attend to, and the harder he tried to push them to the back of his mind, the more prominently they arose to the forefront.

_Just ask,_ commanded his conscience. _You can't keep going like this if he doesn't want it. It's not right._

_Why should you care?_ said another, far more Rick-like voice. _After all the shit he's done to you, don't you deserve to be a little selfish? So what if he doesn't want it? He's a grown man. If he wants to break it off, he can do it himself. It's not your responsibility to keep him from making self-destructive life choices._

_Isn't it, though, if you're the cause of them?_ said his conscience. _It's the right thing to do. Rick is already broken. If you selfishly break him further, you're no better than he is._

He had to do the right thing. He had to.

"Rick," began Morty as his grandfather reached for the gate to their camp. "It's- I- There's something I need to ask you."

"If this is about why your toothbrush was covered in motor oil, the answer is science."

Morty glowered. "It's not about the toothbrush, Rick. It's-"

He sighed. Just for the rest of the day. He just wanted to pretend for a little longer that everything was fine. After that, they could break it off and pretend like none of it ever happened. He could even get that mind-erasing gun of Rick's and wipe both of their memories. Everything would go back to the way it was, and neither of them would have to be hurt over it.

"I'll tell you tonight," said Morty at last.

"Bad idea, Morty," said Rick. "Lines like that practically guarantee that something is gonna come up that keeps you from saying anything more about this until it's almost the end of the story, and I don't think anyone is in the mood to go through one of those plotlines where all the drama and tedious moping around could have been resolved way earlier if the characters just-"

Rick opened the gate, and the rest of the words died in his throat. There, sitting by their fire and eating a drumstick from their undercooked dinner, was none other than Jerry Smith.

"You really shouldn't eat that before it's done cooking, Jerry!" said a worried Doofus Rick, his fairy wings flapping nervously. "That's a yorpy! Those things carry all kinds of parasites that-"

"If we don't eat now, there's no way Rick is gonna share when he gets back," said Jerry, licking his fingers. He glanced over at the gate, and his eyes locked onto C137 Rick. "Oh! Speak of the devil."

Morty half-expected Rick to punt Jerry straight off of the mountain, but his actual response turned out to be shockingly subdued:

"You know, ordinarily, I'd be pretty pissed right now, but this is gonna lead to some killer entertainment in about two hours," said Rick. "Eat up, Jerry. Just make sure to take your next dump outside of camp. I'd tell you to feed it to J19, but I'm pretty sure people from his dimension only eat poop, not entire intestinal tracts."

Doofus Rick deflated, and Jerry was quick to give him a comforting pat on the back. "Don't let him get to you, Rick. He's just jealous that you're not a depressed alcoholic like he is."

Morty winced. There wasn't a whole lot that could bother Rick, but mere mention of his alcoholism had a way of squeezing past his emotional barriers and getting under his skin. Of all the emotional buttons he had available for pushing, his relationship with booze was by far the most sensitive.

"Oh, you wanna go, bitch?" said Rick, taking a step forward. It was clear from his posture alone that he was more than ready to rip Jerry's head from his body. Morty quickly stepped between them before a fight broke out.

"Easy, Rick!" said Morty like a trainer trying to calm a growling dog. He glanced back at Jerry. "Dad, what are you doing here?"

"Believe me, it's not by choice," said Jerry, tossing the bone he'd just finished licking clean behind him. "We had this amazing cave on one of the mountains nearby! There was food, clean water, some sort of valuable moss…"

"Fozbenthian moss," said Doofus Rick shyly. "It's, uh, well, it has-"

"It's a laxative that makes shit smell less like shit," said Rick flatly. "It's popular with scat fetishists."

"That's not it at all!" insisted Doofus Rick, his eyes flitting nervously from side to side. "It's good at preventing Escherichia coli and salmonella if you eat it before consuming contaminated meat!"

"…Right," said Jerry, clearly eager to chance the subject. "Anyway, everything was going great. We had everything we needed, we were making a bunch of improvements to the cave… Then, while we were talking about where to put the dining rock, a bunch of weirdos came by and stole it from us!"

"Oh, wow, how could they attack someone with as intimidating a presence as _you,_ Jerry?" said Rick sarcastically as he placed his boulder down on the pile for the altar and brushed the dirt off of his hands.

"I know, right?" said Jerry, only to pause. "Wait, was that sarcasm?"

Morty covered his face in vicarious embarrassment. "Did those weirdos happen to include a Garblovian, a Traflorkian, and a Blamph?"

Jerry just blinked. "Yeah, uh, I don't know what any of those things are."

It was Doofus Rick who provided an actual answer to the question. "Oh, no, they were all Neighquestrians."

Rick and Morty exchanged a look. Neighquestrians were a strange, highly matriarchal species whose appearance could basically be summed up as 'technicolor horse furries.' Despite their doe eyes, pretty patterns, and flowing manes, they were positively vicious given even the slightest of provocations. Rick, who found the whole 'cute but psycho' trope to be painfully overdone, couldn't stand dealing with them. If Morty was being honest with himself, neither could he.

"Great, first the streamers, and now a herd of walking clichés," sighed Rick. "Morty, put the altar together. And you two!" He crossed his arms over his chest as he addressed Jerry and Doofus Rick. "Find your own campsite!"

"But we'll die if you kick us out!" insisted Jerry.

"Yeah, well, you'll _definitely_ die if you stay," said Morty, more as a statement of fact than a threat. "Don't you remember the last guy who was hanging out with us?"

"Oh yeah," said Jerry. "What ever happened to that guy?"

A moment of awkward silence passed between them as Jerry finally put two and two together.

"Oh," he said at last. "Okay, well, I didn't want to play this card, but Morty, if you let us die, you're grounded!"

"Dad, I'm almost eighteen, and-and we're still only about midway through the never-ending cycle of you and mom breaking up and getting back together," said Morty, prompting Jerry's shoulders to droop as he pouted rather pathetically.

"Yeah, you guys are so predictable that I'm not sure why you even bother filling out the paperwork anymore," said Rick. "The sight of you two in the same vicinity makes all the divorce attorneys start salivating and circling the house like vultures. I'm-I'm pretty sure the last one just popped straight out of the bushes the moment you finished that last argument."

"Anyway," continued Morty. "By the time you get married again, I'm going to be living somewhere else."

"Wait, what?" said Jerry and Rick in perfect unison.

"Morty, you're not moving out," said Rick firmly.

"For once, we're in agreement," said Jerry. "No offense, Morty, but you've never had a job, and your grades are-" He trailed off as Rick's eyes narrowed at him. "-not, uh, not reflective of your intelligence, but, you know, I don't think you're gonna be getting into college anytime soon."

"Wait, are you guys saying I'm too dumb to move out?" said Morty, cheeks reddening.

Doofus Rick, who'd been standing awkwardly in the background for a little bit, decided to step in. "That's not true, Morty! It's just-"

"No, it's absolutely true," said Rick. "Come on, Morty, why would you even _want_ to move out? You've got free food, free shelter, free internet…"

"Rick, I'm not going to be forty years old and living in my parents' basement!" said Morty.

"That's not true, Morty!" said Jerry. "We don't even have a basement! Well, unless you count Rick's evil lair beneath the house."

"You-you-you know what? Fuck you guys!" said Morty, tossing the rock he'd been holding onto the altar pile and raising both of his middle fingers; one at Rick, and one at his dad. "Dad, you can't just take your insecurities out on me! The fact is, you don't _want_ me to get a job and move out, because you're terrified that your son might be more successful than you are!" Rick was grinning cockily, but Morty was having absolutely none of that. No one was escaping his wrath without a verbal beatdown today. "And _you!_ You can build your own fucking altar, Rick!" Rick looked like he was about to say something, but Morty interrupted him before he could get a word in. "Oh, wait, that's right, you can't! You took a debuff that means you can't do magic! You need _me_ for that! Just like you need me to-to mask your brainwaves, help you nurse your fucking hangovers, and stoke your God-damned ego by saying dumb shit that you can harp on and insult me for, because even though you're the smartest person in the universe, you're _just_ as insecure as my dad. You-you-you've got the emotional maturity of a prepubescent teenager!"

Morty turned around, shoved open the gate to their camp, and stormed out in a huff. No one appeared followed after him, which was a relief. He needed some time alone to cool off.

He walked and walked until he was well out of earshot of their base. Small animals fled before him as he stomped his way through the woods, though he supposed that was pretty normal for animals to do even when one _wasn't_ currently the living embodiment of pent-up frustration.

"Fucking _dad,"_ he grumbled. "Fucking _Rick…_ Fucking… AGH!"

He slammed his fist against a tree, because that seemed like the sort of thing frustrated people did a lot in movies and cartoons and shit. All it accomplished was him hurting his hand and leaving a red bark pattern on his knuckles.

"Morty?" said Rick's voice from behind him. Morty rolled his eyes.

"Not now, Rick! I just- oh, it's you," he said as he turned around and noticed the bowl cut. "What do you want?"

Doofus Rick stepped forward.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Angry," said Morty. "Obviously."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Morty raised an eyebrow. That certainly wasn't a question he was used to hearing. Well, not outside of interrogation rooms, anyway.

"Fuck it, why not?" he sighed, pressing himself against a rock and sliding down into a sitting position. Doofus Rick took a seat beside him and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "But, uh, Doo- I mean, J19, I need you to promise me something."

"Of course, Morty!" said Doofus Rick with a smile. "Whatever you need."

Morty took a deep breath. Doofus Rick was a little strange, but he was harmless and, more importantly, he could be trusted.

"I need you to promise me that you won't say anything about this to Rick or, more importantly, my dad."

"Your secret is safe with me," said Doofus Rick, taking his thumb and index finger and making a zipping gesture across his lips.

"Okay," said Morty, taking a deep breath. "Alright. Let's talk."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! Thanks for your patience, and I'm really sorry about the delay on this one; I hope the final result doesn't come across as painfully rushed as it really was. I lost a lot of time to a multi-day power outage. A bunch of trees got knocked over in a storm and took out the power lines. Stupid nature. I mean, who even needs it, amirite?
> 
> Anyway, thanks to everyone who's commented on the story so far. I'm trying to respond to all of your comments, but please don't take it personally if I miss yours. I read and appreciate every single one, believe me! If you can, please take a moment to leave your honest thoughts on this week's chapter. Thanks again, and see you all in two weeks!


	8. Liar, Liar, Plants for Hire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! Sorry for the delayed release of this chapter. I might have had a teensy tiny emotional BSOD over the holidays. That, and I had some issues finishing up my Secret Santa, and then school, and, well, here we are. Nonetheless, here we are. It's a little short for the wait, but I hope all five of you still awaiting an update enjoy it anyway.
> 
> \---
> 
> Edit: Since it's been a little while, here's a quick recap:
> 
> After finding a campsite, Rick has Morty go out to retrieve a dragon egg while he stays back and sets up camp. In the process, Morty successfully loses the Gromflomite that's been bugging them, in addition to acquiring the egg. However, before his disappearance, the aforementioned Gromflomite threw a wrench in Rick and Morty's romance by suggesting that Rick might just be pretending to be into it to make Morty happy. Morty, terrified of this being true, has become emotionally volatile, uncertain of whether he wants to try and drag things out a little longer or toughen up and ask Rick how he really feels. It's at this point that Jerry and Doofus Rick make their return seeking food shelter after being run out of their cave by some technicolor horse furries. Morty, still angsting about whether or not Rick really loves him, loses his temper with Rick and storms off, only to be followed by Doofus Rick, who offers to console Morty about whatever it is that's bothering him. Morty decides to take him up on the offer.

"I'm sorry if this sounds kind of prying, but I-I-I can't help but get the sense that there's more to this than just you moving out," said Doofus Rick.

"It's fine," said Morty, resting his head against the rock. "I mean, you're not wrong. There's just been a lot of shit going on in my life lately, and it's- I guess it's got me a little on edge."

"Like what?"

Morty exhaled. "Okay, well, first of all, I've got finals coming up soon, which I'm completely unprepared for. Of course, Rick – I mean, _my_ Rick – doesn't understand why I'm so worried about it. It's all just one big- a huge waste of time to him. And the worst part is that he might actually be _right!_ There's pretty much no way I'm getting into college with my grades and attendance record. Even if I could, what would I study?" He clutched the sides of his head. "I may be stupid, but I'm not delusional; I'll never be a genius like Rick. I mean, shit, if we're measuring things in pure book-smarts, I'm even dumber than my dad. There are people way smarter than me who've dropped out of high school, so who-who-who am I to think I've got a chance? This- It should be an obvious decision, right?"

Doofus Rick, for his part, waited patiently until he was sure Morty was done speaking before giving his response:

"Morty, why do you want to graduate high school?"

"I don't know," said Morty, shaking his head. "Pride, I guess? Like, it- I've kind of just come to accept that I'm a dumbass. Even if I weren't, _everybody_ looks like an idiot next to Rick, so there's no point in letting it get to me either way. But, like… I don't know. Maybe I'm just hoping it'll somehow impress him. Maybe I'm just trying to impress myself. And maybe…" He frowned. "Maybe I'm worried about employment prospects if, uh, you know, something goes wrong between us, or… Or if Rick… If he kicks the bucket, you know? Like, with all the crazy serums and clones and shit, I don't really believe he's just gonna let himself die of old age, but-but-but it's stupid to pretend that isn't a possibility. We do some dangerous shit."

Again, Doofus Rick waited until he was definitely finished before responding.

"But you want to do it, right?" said Doofus Rick. "That's-that's reason enough, Morty. You don't have to find a reason to justify graduating aside from wanting to."

"You-you think so?" said Morty, poking at the dirt with a stick.

"Being smart doesn't necessarily mean that all of a Rick's opinions are right," said Doofus Rick. "I-I-I mean, if he likes the color blue, does it mean blue is objectively the best color? A lot of Ricks tend to think of school as something beneath them, but projecting that onto someone else is a little like someone with two functioning legs telling a person paralyzed from the waist down that they shouldn't bother with wheelchairs. I hope that wasn't too gruesome an analogy. Was it too gruesome? I'm sorry."

"No, no, it was a good analogy," said Morty, looking up at last. "You're right. Rick's a genius, and he's right about almost everything, but I can still want things that he thinks are stupid. It might be meaningless for him because he could just coast his way to Valedictorian, but it still has meaning to me."

Doofus Rick pursed his lips. "Actually, umm…"

"Yeah?"

"Never mind," said Doofus Rick quickly. "That's the sort of thing he should tell you himself."

Morty's curiosity was officially piqued. "Tell me what?"

"Uh, umm… You said 'first of all' when you started talking," said Doofus Rick, looking a little too eager to change the subject. "Was there anything else you needed to get off your chest?"

Morty's eyes narrowed. "Yeah, but don't think we aren't coming back to this later."

Doofus Rick bristled uncomfortably.

"Anyway," continued Morty, still eager to vent. "You know how I asked if you could keep a secret?"

"Mmhmm."

"Well, now's your chance to prove it," said Morty, eyes narrowing. "I mean it. If you tell _anyone,_ you won't even be _able_ to regret it, because I'll-I'll-I'll wipe your memory of everything past learning how to latch onto your mom's nipples and drop you off on a planet that rains glass."

"R-right," said Doofus Rick, shrinking back. Morty couldn't help but feel a little bad about the threat. Still, he had to make it clear that he meant business. His reasons would surely become obvious once he explained.

"Okay, well, here it is," said Morty. "Rick and I are dating."

There was something strangely fascinating about the look on Doofus Rick's face as he processed those words. His nervous, buck-toothed smile fell into slack-jawed horror. Even his lazy eye seemed to snap to attention for a split second, though Morty supposed that could just be something on the game's end.

_"What?"_

"Before you start judging my Rick, just keep in mind that I started this," said Morty quickly. "That's, uh, that's actually what I was hoping to talk about. Just hear me out, okay?"

"I don't know, Morty, this is-"

Morty's gaze darkened. "Do you think I was kidding about that threat earlier? That-that it was just some comedy bit? Because it wasn't. Don't think for a second that I won't follow through. I may be a Morty, but I'm not an idealistic fourteen-year-old anymore. You don't survive as long as I have at Rick's side on-on idle threats. Is that clear?"

Doofus Rick swallowed and nodded.

"Good," said Morty, his venomous tone instantly dissipating like he hadn't just threatened someone's life. He'd said so many horrible things to so many people that it had become easy to switch back and forth between pleasant and threatening. "So anyway, long story short, a couple weeks ago, Rick kinda walked in on me masturbating to a synthesized version of his voice. I-I-I told him how I felt, and we, uh, we kind of got together, I guess?"

"O-oh," said Doofus Rick, clearly still not sure how to respond to this. "Kind of?"

"That's the thing," said Morty. "He didn't seem to have any reservations about touching me that first night-" It was at this point that Morty scooted away from Doofus Rick, who appeared to be on the verge of throwing up. "-but he hasn't really made any moves since then. In fact, lately he's been really distant. Which, I mean, I know it's Rick, and all, but this is _especially_ distant, even for him. Like, if it weren't for the fact that he occasionally acknowledges that it happened, I might've just started thinking it was all just a really vivid dream. It just feels like he's not interested, and I don't know if-if-if it's because of something I did, or if he never wanted this in the first place. I know Rick isn't exactly the most stable person out there, and I know how much my approval means to him, even if he doesn't like to admit it. So the question is, did he only agree to this to humor me? Did I pressure him into it?"

"Woah, nonononononono!" said Doofus Rick immediately. "This is absolutely not your fault! Rick may have issues, but he's the adult, here!"

Morty sighed. "Look, J19, Rick may _physically_ be the adult, and he may do 'adult' things, but I wasn't just throwing out random insults when I said he's about as emotionally mature as a teenager. Whether or not he _should_ be the responsible one is beside the point; the second you expect _Rick Sanchez_ to act like a mature adult is supposed to, you've already lost. It's not right, and it doesn't justify half the shit he pulls on an hourly basis, but that's the world we live in. Rick does what he wants and takes what he wants, and there's no force in the multiverse that can stop him. The thing is, I'm not being manipulated. He hasn't messed with my memories, and believe me, I've checked every couple of weeks since Summer let it slip that he had a whole room full of shit he's deleted from my brain. Yes, he's older. Yes, he's smarter. Yes, there's-there's-there's a huge fucking power imbalance between us." And good God, did that ever turn Morty on. "Hell, there's a power imbalance between Rick and every other being in the multiverse! But I'm not asking for advice with those things. I _know_ how to deal with Rick being an asshole who treats the universe like his own personal toy box. What I need help with is Rick being a self-destructive _idiot."_

Doofus Rick still appeared uncomfortable. "Okay, but-"

"No buts!" interrupted Morty. "How can I tell if Rick is into this or not?"

At last, Doofus Rick seemed to relent. "Have, uh, have you tried asking?"

Morty pressed his palms together and sighed. Well, this had proven a complete waste of time. "No."

"Okay, well, uh, maybe do that, then?" said Doofus Rick.

"And what am I supposed to do if the answer is no?" demanded Morty.

Doofus Rick flinched back. "Uuuuh, break up?"

"And-and-and then what?" said Morty. "What do I do then, huh? Go back to the way everything was before? Pretend like nothing ever happened? Wipe my own memory and spend the rest of my life pining for what I can't have?" He slammed his fist in the dirt. "Is that my reward for everything I've put up with? Being miserable forever?"

"Morty, it's- Love isn't something you get as a reward," said Doofus Rick carefully, painfully aware of how thin the ice he was walking on was. "Your Rick already loves you as a grandson, I can tell, but you can't force him to love you as, well, you know. That doesn't mean you have to be miserable forever, though! You're still so young, Morty. Someone else will come along."

"Yeah, that sure worked out great for you," muttered Morty, his words indisputably harsher than was called for. "Didn't they have to assign you a Morty because you never got married?"

"And it wasn't too late for me, either!" said Doofus Rick, looking away and blushing. "I found someone."

Oh, phew. Now Morty didn't have to feel quite as bad about lashing out like that. "That's not the point, J19! I don't want someone else, I want _Rick!"_

"Didn't you feel the same way about Jessica before?"

"I still do," admitted Morty. "Physically, I mean. Rick and I, uh, we kind of have an open thing going, sexually."

"But you don't _love_ her anymore."

"I don't know if I ever did," said Morty with a halfhearted shrug. "She's hot, but, like, I barely knew her, so I kind of put her on a pedestal and made all sorts of weird assumptions about how things would go between us, and… Yeah. Rick's not like that, though. I've seen him at his- I don't wanna say 'worst,' because he's never ceased to surprise me with the new lows he can stoop to, but the point is that I know him in a way I never knew Jessica. It's not the same. I don't just want to have sex. I mean, I _do_ want to have sex, but there's just so much more to it. I just kind of love him independent of that, if that makes any sense. Like, if someone cut my dick off, I'd still just want to be with him, because the most important thing is just that he's there."

"Well, that goes without saying. He _is_ your grandpa," said Doofus Rick. "That's just familial love."

"If I love him and want to fuck him at the same time, is there even a meaningful difference?"

"What I'm trying to say is that unrequited sexual love passes," said Doofus Rick. "It hurts, but you move beyond it. Life goes on."

"I don't want it to just go on," admitted Morty. "I-I-I don't want to- I don't want to lose him."

"And you won't," said Doofus Rick. "You said yourself that the most important thing is just that he's there, right? Do-do you really think your Rick is going to stop wanting to spend time with you? He'll always love you, Morty. Maybe he doesn't want to, umm, have _sex_ with you, but you aren't going to lose him."

For a long, _long_ moment, Morty sat in silent contemplation.

"There's no way around it, is there?" he said quietly. "I can delay all I want, but no matter what I do or who I look to for advice, the answer is always going to be the same." He took a deep breath. "I have to ask Rick about how he really feels."

Doofus Rick nodded.

"And if he lies?"

"I think you'll know if he is."

Morty laughed bitterly. Yeah. Yeah, he would _definitely_ know if Rick was lying. He knew every last one of his tells.

"I guess that's it, then," said Morty, standing up. "Let's head back and get this over with."

"Are you sure?" said Doofus Rick. "You don't need a moment?"

"I've had a lot of moments," said Morty. "It's time to-"

"MORTY!"

Morty let out a horrified, squeaky scream as his pale father hobbled towards him like a zombie, his prolapsed intestines dragging along the ground behind him.

"Morty!" cried his father. "Help me!"

"What the hell?" said Morty, scrambling to back away so as to avoid contact with the bloody entrails. It wasn't the single most disgusting thing he'd ever seen, but it was still pretty high up there on the list of sights that made him gag. Doofus Rick, presumably not as desensitized as his fellows at the citadel, looked like he was about to be sick. "Rick!"

"What'd I tell you? This is why you don't eat undercooked yorpy," said Rick's voice. This time, it wasn't Doofus Rick. C137 followed Jerry out of the bushes, though he took care to keep his distance from Jerry and the bloody trail he was leaving behind him. "Just hold still and let me kill you, Jerry."

"NO!" said Jerry, limping faster. "Morty! You have healing powers, right? You can fix this!"

"It'll put them back, but it won't get rid of the parasite," said Rick, placing a hand on his hip. "Until you get that out, your innards are just gonna keep sliding out like wet turds."

 _"Then get it out!"_ demanded Jerry, shuddering with pain and discomfort as his intestines continued to spill out. "Oh God, oh God!"

Without thinking, Morty averted his eyes, raised his hands, and rattled off the name of his healing spell just to keep himself from having to see any more. By the time he finally took a peek at the results, Jerry's innards appeared to have retracted themselves back into his body.

"Oh, thank God," gasped Jerry.

"More like 'thank Morty,' " said Rick. "Now bend over so Doofus can get that parasite out of you. It was-URP-funny the first time, but we can't afford to waste mana on your stupidity."

"Wait, why do I have to bend over?"

"Because the parasite is in your intestines, and we don't have the tools to extract it another way," said Rick, turning around to walk back to camp while Jerry began to freak out over exactly what was being implied. "Come on, Morty. Something tells me you don't want to see your dad getting fisted."

Morty didn't need to be told twice. He scurried eagerly after Rick while Jerry babbled incoherently in the background and Doofus Rick struggled to offer up words of reassurance.

"I, uh, that was pretty gross, huh, Rick?" said Morty, struggling to keep up with his grandfather's long, rapid strides without breaking into a run, forcing him into an uncomfortable half-jog to keep the pace. His grandfather didn't respond. "Rick?"

Silence. Morty swallowed.

"You, umm, you're not mad about what I said, are you?"

More silence. Morty was going to take that as a 'yes, I'm fucking pissed.'

"Umm, sorry, uh, about that," he offered. "Rick? Come on, Rick."

His grandfather pulled open the door and entered camp without so much as a passing glance over his shoulder.

Morty's shoulders drooped. It had been a long, _long_ time since he'd pissed off Rick badly enough to earn the silent treatment. He was the sort of person who could easily brush off threats and insults. For him to be this mad, it was clear that Morty had struck a nerve.

"Rick?" said Morty again as Rick wordlessly retrieved a saw from the hut and began slicing away at a log. "You can't just ignore me like this."

Still nothing. In mounting frustration, Morty balled his hands up into fists.

"Damn it, Rick, what-what-what do you want me to say?" he said, voice rising. "Do you want me to take it all back? For-for us both to just pretend I didn't mean every word? Will that make you happy?"

For a brief moment, the pace of Rick's sawing increased, but it quickly normalized again.

"I can't believe you," growled Morty. That was it. He was done groveling. "You know, maybe I _was_ wrong. You aren't like a teenager. You're a fucking _child._ And, I mean, why wouldn't you be? You can do and have whatever you want, right? Everything comes so _easy_ for _Rick Sanchez._ Why bother growing up when everyone in your life is happy to accept you as a selfish asshole? In exchange for, what, a tiny taste of the power to destroy worlds? The-the ego trip of feeling like the center of your universe? Well, I've tasted it, Rick, and you know what? Flashy technology and portal guns to alternate dimensions aren't a sustainable basis for every relationship in your life. You-you want people to think you're some infallible, god-like force of nature, but you can only distract them with gadgets and memory wipes for so long. And guess what? It-it-it doesn't work on me anymore." He relaxed his fists. "I've- I accepted you for what you are years ago, Rick, and I knew better than to think I could fix you. I'm not asking you to change, and I still love you, but that doesn't mean I'm just going to sit there and-and just take it!"

His lengthy, half-shouted tirade completed, he quietly panted from the exertion of ranting for so long as he awaited any kind of response. He got one, but it was a far cry from what he'd hoped for:

"Put the altar together, Morty."

"Oh, of course," said Morty. "Don't answer me! Let's just-just-just change the subject! You got any more orders for me, Rick? Anything else I should do while I'm at it?"

"You wanted me to talk, and I'm talking," said Rick curtly. "You didn't ask any questions, so I'm not sure what you expect me to respond to."

"I- You- AGH!" said Morty, throwing his hands into the air. Of course Rick wouldn't try to address any of his accusations. Why had he ever expected any differently? It was _Rick._ "So, what, you're not going to apologize or deny it? We're all just gonna move on and pretend this never happened? Is that it?"

"Oh, you want an apology?" said Rick, finally setting down the saw. "Well, shit, Morty, I'm sorry for-for telling it like it is! I'm sorry I don't just fucking coddle you with lies to make you feel better about yourself! Here, I'll start now: You're _definitely_ going to-to graduate high school!"

For a moment of tense silence, they simply glared at one another.

And then Morty grabbed the saw Rick had been using and slashed it across his chest, opening up a sizable gash that spilled bright red blood all over the ground.

"God- _fucking-"_ swore Rick, stumbling backwards for a moment before lifting one of the wooden planks he'd cut earlier and taking a swing at Morty, striking him hard enough across the jaw to not only dislocate it on impact, but send him flying off to the side.

Morty didn't hesitate before jamming his thumb into his mouth, gripping his mandible, and snapping it back into place, letting out a half-muffled scream as he did so.

"You don't coddle me with lies, huh?" said Morty. "How the hell can you even say that with a straight face? You've been lying this whole fucking time!"

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"You let me think you _cared,_ you piece of shit!" roared Morty, grabbing a rock off of the ground and chucking it at Rick, who narrowly dodged it. "Tell me, did-did you actually think what you were doing was okay? That it wouldn't hurt me? Or-or was it just some kind of a game or a ploy to make me more compliant? Which is it, Rick?"

For a moment, Rick looked like he didn't know what to say, but it wasn't long before his eyes narrowed. "Are you fucking serious?" he growled. "Yeah, okay. Sure, _I'm_ the bad guy for giving you _exactly what you wanted._ Don't try to act like the victim here, Morty!"

 _"This isn't what I wanted,_ and you _know_ it!" screamed Morty, hurling another rock at Rick, who made a halfhearted attempt at dodging before it struck him. "But why would that matter to you? When has what I wanted _ever_ mattered to you?"

"Hey, guys, we're back!" chirped Jerry, flying over the locked gate along with Doofus Rick. "So, what'd we mi-"

 _"Shut the fuck up, Jerry!"_ they snapped in unison.

"Okay, well, I'm sensing this is a bad time," said Jerry, edging away. Doofus Rick, too, shrank back and meekly followed after him. "We'll, uh, we'll just be in the hut, then."

"You know what? You-you-you can be wherever the fuck you want," said Morty. "I'm _leaving!"_

"The fuck do you mean, you're _leaving?"_ said Rick as Morty grabbed one of the backpacks. "What, you're all pissed, so now you're gonna run off into the wilderness and die?"

"No!" said Morty, packing up some tools and weapons. "I'm gonna go out and survive _on my own!"_

"Fine!" said Rick, arms crossed over his still-bleeding chest. "I'll send Jerry out to look for your remains in a couple days!"

_"Fuck you!"_

"Fuck _you!"_

"Uh, what the hell is happening?" said Jerry. "We were only gone for a few minutes!"

"Hey! _Hey!"_ said Rick as Morty lined the bag with backpack with moss and carefully transferred the dragon egg into it. "You aren't taking the egg!"

"Aren't I?" snapped Morty. "I didn't see you out there running away from a dragon with me to get this egg!" He turned to Jerry and Doofus Rick. "Did _you?"_

"I may not be a genius, but I'm smart enough to stay out of this," said Jerry, hands raised.

"It's my egg!" said Morty, closing the bag and swinging it over his back. He turned around and flipped Rick off with both hands as he backed towards the gate, only to trip and fall flat on his ass, because it turned out that walking backwards across nature while barefoot was never a good idea. Predictably, Rick grinned and cackled. "Damn it!"

"You-you know what? Have fun on your brief, angry stroll," taunted Rick as Morty got back up and pushed the gate open. "See you tonight."

Morty slammed the gate closed behind him and marched off into the woods, sheer force of anger propelling him easily forward. As he continued his descent down the mountain, however, he began to wonder just how wise a decision this had truly been. He didn't know what half of these creatures were or did, he barely understood the mechanics of the game, and there were hundreds of other players out there who were out for blood.

"Oh geez," he muttered under his breath. Maybe it really would be best to go back.

But no. The sense of self-destructive pride he'd inherited from his mother reared its ugly head, and the sheer force of spite for Rick compelled him onwards. Morty squared his shoulders, steeled his resolve, and marched into the unknown. He'd survived without Rick before in worse situations, and he could do it again!

Something rumbled behind him, and Morty shivered as a gooey strand of drool dripped down onto his shoulder.

Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and just to be clear, yes, I'm very much aware that Morty forgot something important back at camp, and it wasn't just an oversight. See you next update, and please feel free to leave some constructive criticism in the comments!


	9. It's "Pants on Fire," Morty

"Don't you know that 'drooling on the shoulder from above' reveals have been done to death?" screamed Morty as he wove back and forth through the trees, an eight-legged beast with sharp claws and needles instead of fur chasing after him. Aggro distance might have indeed been set to low, but in Morty's anger, he'd inadvertently stumbled right into its personal space, and his enhanced skills were nowhere near strong enough to get him back out. "You can't just borrow from-from overdone clichés without adding anything new and still expect to build tension in your audience!"

The creature roared, unfazed by Morty's trash talk. Well, it had been worth a try, anyway.

Morty's eyes flickered rapidly back and forth in search of an escape, but it was no use. Worse still, the sun was setting, and he was using up too much mana from Tireless Sprint to be able to use Night Vision once it got dark. He needed shelter and, as a low growl from his stomach reminded him, food. Things were looking pretty hopeless, but Morty wasn't ready to resign himself to death just yet. He drew his bow and nocked an arrow, which he turned around just long enough to fire.

_Dink!_ It bounced harmlessly off of the creatures sea urchin-like shell. Worse still, turning around to shoot had allowed it to close the distance between them.

Morty gritted his teeth.

Nope. This was _not_ how he was going to die. Like hell he was going to give Rick that kind of satisfaction. Out of options, he had little choice but to go for the only spell in his arsenal that he had yet to use:

_"Leaf Barrage!"_

The creature howled out in fear as a giant mass of leaves ripped themselves off of the nearby trees and pelted it endlessly. Morty raised his hand to direct the assault into its eyes, and then, when it roared, shoved enough down its gaping may to plug up its airway. As it struggled to breathe, it collapsed to the ground, writhing in desperation while Morty looked on from a distance. After several minutes of panicked flailing, it finally passed out.

Thanks to Armothy, Morty knew better than to assume it was dead at this point. He picked up the arrow he'd fired earlier, gingerly peeled back the creatures eye, and stabbed the pointed tip into the corner of the socket to skewer its brain.

"That's right," said Morty, turning off Tireless Sprint and yanking the bloody arrow back out. "Now who's dinner, bitch?"

He carefully retrieved a hammer from his bag, slowly enough so as not to burn himself on the dragon egg, and gave the creature's shell an experimental whack. Though it had held up against the arrow, it cracked surprisingly easily now that it was dead. Morty wasn't sure if that was because these creatures' shells actually became soft upon dying (assuming they existed in real life at all, and weren't just a mythological creature from some alien culture), or because the game wanted to make it easier to loot corpses. Either way, it was convenient, and he eagerly began peeling pieces of shell away to expose the gooey yellow innards.

For a moment, Morty leaned forward to slurp up some of the goo, too hungry to give much of a crap about whether or not it was raw. It was hard to be grossed out after the time he'd been forced to eat raw donkadork testicles so as to avoid offending a highly-sensitive society of Nibblegarzians.

Alas, the memory of his father running towards him with prolapsed intestines was burned into his mind, and he quickly retracted his tongue. Perhaps he could find the time to cook it, after all.

Morty set down the pieces of shell and began looking around the woods. Fortunately, since this was a game world, it didn't take long to find what he needed. Flint existed in abundance even where it didn't make sense for it to be present, as did its companion stone, fool's gold.

"Also known as iron pyrite," mused Morty to no one in particular as he plucked a fist-sized hunk up off of the ground. "Yeah, not-not so stupid now, am I, Rick?"

_Rick…_

No. He'd already resolved not to get upset about that. Morty did his best to focus on the process of clearing out plants and digging a pit of dry wood. He'd had time to mentally prepare himself for this. There was nothing to be gained from moping about it.

_"Sure, I'm the bad guy for giving you exactly what you wanted!"_

He'd known it was coming. He'd _known._ So why were the words still echoing endlessly in his head?

"I never asked you to lie," he muttered, his voice shakier than he would have liked. "I never- God damn it!"

He struggled to wipe the tears welling up in his eyes away on his shoulder while he struck the flint and pyrite together over his firewood.

"You fucking liar," he choked out. _Clack!_ "If-if it was gonna be like this, it would have been better if you'd just rejected me from the start!" _Clack!_ "But you didn't! You had to go and-and get my hopes up!" _Clack! "Fuck!"_

It was difficult to tell whether he was shaking from anger or the chill of the night air as he leaned down to gently breathe life into the embers. As the fire began to grow, he attempted to stick some of the monster meat onto the end of a stick like a marshmallow, but it was too gooey and slid right off. Morty began rifling through his bag for a possible cooking surface, but there was nothing large and bowl-like enough to cook over a fire without igniting, itself.

Morty thought for a moment, then carefully removed the hot dragon egg from his bag and laid it on its side. It wasn't perfect, given the shape, but perhaps…

He scooped up a small portion of goey yellow meat in his hands and placed it atop the egg. It immediately began to sizzle and drip down the sides, but most of it bonded together like a cooked egg and stayed on top. That would have to do for the moment.

While that cooked, Morty got to work creating a slightly wider opening in the creature's shell and scooping out more of the innards. It wasn't a permanent solution to his shelter problem, but it beat sleeping out in the open. This would allow him to put out the fire for the night by using its body heat for warmth. Of course, scavengers might also be interested in its corpse, but that wasn't something he could afford to worry about right then.

Morty used a stick to carefully remove the jiggly mass of cooked flesh from the egg and gave it an experimental nibble.

"Gross…" he muttered, but ate it anyway, hoping all the while that it didn't turn out to be as poisonous as it was disgusting.

Icky as it was, he cooked up a couple more batches until he was reasonably full, packed the egg away, and began to move all of his belongings into the monster's corpse before putting out the fire pit and clambering into it, himself. Without the light of his campfire, it was pitch black inside, and Morty grimaced as he attempted to find a comfortable sleeping position in the muck.

"Is this rock bottom?" Morty asked himself. On its own, it certainly wasn't the worst situation he'd been in, but the combination of sleeping in a corpse for the umpteenth time and the reveal that Rick had only pretended to go along with his twisted fantasies to placate him were almost enough to make him wish the creature would spontaneously regenerate itself and digest him.

With slimy innards squelching beneath him, Morty rolled onto his side and cried himself to sleep.

* * *

 

"Wow. You sure do go through a lot of drama in the space of one day," mused Moonshine, the mannequin woman Morty recognized as the one meant to assign his stat increases in his dreams. "I have seen a lot of arguments in my time as a stat keeper, but that was quite the spectacle."

"Get bent," said Morty, turning his gaze down towards the perk trees on the table.

"See, that is your problem," said Moonshine. "You allow your pride to get the best of you and needlessly escalate the situation."

Morty's jaw dropped, unable to believe what he was hearing. "Woah, woah, woah. _I_ needlessly escalate the situation?"  That was a  _Rick_ thing.  "You-you're joking, right?"

"Absolutely not," said Moonshine, floating upwards to take a seat on top of her desk. "When your companion was giving you the silent treatment, you had the perfect opportunity to calmly and clearly describe your feelings. And what did you do?"

Moonshine raised her palm, and a wide white oval screen appeared above it. It began to display a clip from Morty's point of view, audio and all.

_"I can't believe you,"_ it began, only to cut forward. _"You're a fucking child!"_

"No, no, no," said Morty shaking his head vigorously and slamming his palms down on the table. "You don't understand! Rick- He's a complete asshole! If you knew him, you'd know how justified that was!"

"Whether or not your response was justified is irrelevant," said Moonshine, poking one of her shiny, slender fingers up against his forehead. "What did you accomplish?"

"But-"

"No buts," said Moonshine. _"What did you accomplish?"_

For a moment, Morty's mouth flapped open and closed as he struggled to formulate some kind of rational response.

"It is entirely possible that you made some perfectly good points," said Moonshine. "However, your delivery is flawed. Most people do not respond well to angry belittlement, regardless of how true it may be."

"But that's not fair!" said Morty. "How come I'm the one who has to be calm and responsible? He's more than fifty years older than me!"

Moonshine began playing another clip of Morty's words, this time from his earlier talk with Doofus Rick:

_"Whether or not he_ should _be the responsible one is beside the point; the second you expect Rick Sanchez to act like a mature adult is supposed to, you've already lost. It's not right, and it doesn't justify half the shit he pulls on an hourly basis, but that's the world we live in."_

"It seems to me that you were aware that this relationship would be unfair from the start," said Moonshine. "I am not telling you to willfully continue your peculiar romance and accept an unfair dichotomy. What I am telling you is that, should you choose to continue to engage with it, you do not exactly have the right to be surprised. You knew from the start that this would be unhealthy." Morty hung his head. He had known that, hadn't he? He'd flat-out told Rick at the start that he knew him better than anybody else, and that he wouldn't ask for it any other way. "Once more, there is no shame in refusal to further participate further; I do not think most sane people would embrace such a relationship. However, it is a fact that, should you do so, this is what you must expect."

"Whatever," he muttered. "It-it doesn't even matter anymore. Rick isn't interested in me like that."

"What makes you say that?" said Moonshine. "This?"

Moonshine replayed another clip of Morty ranting:

_"Tell me, did-did you actually think what you were doing was okay? That it wouldn't hurt me? Or-or was it just some kind of a game or a ploy to make me more compliant? Which is it, Rick?"_

"What is this 'it' you refer to, here?" asked Moonshine.

"Oh, come on, it-it-it's so obvious what I mean by that," said Morty, bristling uncomfortably. "There's no room for-for misinterpretation. I meant him lying about our relationship."

Moonshine didn't have a face, but Morty couldn't help but feel like if she did, her look in that moment would all but scream, 'Really?' He chewed his lip uncomfortably and directed his attention at his feet.

"I am an artificial intelligence designed to state the facts as directly as possible, so I am going to be very blunt with you," said Moonshine. "Your words were so vague and poorly worded that it is honestly quite difficult for me to come up with a worse way of phrasing it. One might go so far as to say that it sounded like something a terrible hack of an author spent many precious hours of their life putting together for the express purpose of ensuring that some poorly-written misunderstanding continued well past the point that it should have been over."

"Oh geez," said Morty, rubbing the back of his neck. She was really laying into him, wasn't she? "Wow. Okay. First of all, _ouch._ What happened to 'people aren't receptive to belittlement?' "

_"Most_ people are not receptive to belittlement," said Moonshine. "I believe you to be an exception to this rule, as, from what I have seen, most of your blue-haired companion's criticism of you appears to take the form of insults and teasing. In fact, prior to the Gromflomite causing you anxiety about the state of your relationship, you appeared to take sexual gratification out of it."

Morty's cheeks went bright red. "Only from Rick!"

"I see. My apologies, then," said Moonshine. "Now, shall we take care of business?"

"What bus- oh, yeah," said Morty. Right. She wasn't there to help him with his grandpa troubles, she was there to allocate those sweet, succulent XP points. Naturally, this meant she didn't know what she was talking about, and he could safely disregard all of her advice. After all, thinking about what she had to say would require him to think about his problems, which he really didn't want to do. "How did I do?"

"Well, congratulations on stealing a dragon egg," said Moonshine, pulling up some numbers representing his stats. "Not a lot of players have the guts to take one on in regular gameplay, let alone hardcore mode, especially this early on in the tech tree. After taking all of the running and magic into consideration, you have earned a few levels in both. Your mana pool has increased by thirty percent, and your stamina by fifteen percent. You have three spell points and one skill point available to you."

Morty looked over his current passive skill trees on the desk. He'd already activated the first two skills in the Rabbit's Foot and Shade's Fang trees, so it was probably best to continue along one of those. He eyed the Shade tree. The next passive set the mana cost of Night Vision to 0. That sounded like a pretty good deal to Morty, so he tapped it with his finger.

The passive trees disappeared, replaced by the active skill trees. Morty assessed his options.

"What do you think I should pick?" he asked Moonshine.

"Well, that depends on whether or not you really plan to go on alone," said Moonshine. "Which, by the way, I do not recommend."

"Yeah, well, you-you wouldn't have recommended that I go off and fight a dragon, either."

"You did not exactly fight the dragon," said Moonshine. "You ran from it. Screaming."

Morty crossed his arms over his chest. "Just tell me what to choose!"

"Very well," said Moonshine. "I suggest you take Vine Tendrils from the offense branch of the Dryad tree, in addition to Bloom from the healing branch. The prehensile vines you will be able to extend out of your body are useful for a number of things outside of combat, and Bloom will allow you to speed the growth of plants if you set up your own campsite. Furthermore, the healing branch of the Dryad tree eventually leads to the ability to grow plant minions, which will be useful for solo play."

"Anything else?" asked Morty.

"Shadow Split, from the Shade tree," said Moonshine, tapping the icon. "It allows you to turn your shadow into a double of yourself. This double has no physical form and cannot interact with the world, but it makes a good distraction. Neither of you will cast a shadow while the skill is in use, but it still has its uses in tricking less savvy players, who will not be able to tell which is which at first glance without using one of their own skills. In addition, most monsters are too stupid to notice this detail, making it invaluable against the environment."

That seemed fair. Morty decided to heed her advice and take the suggested skills.

"Well, if that's it-" began Morty, but Moonshine interrupted.

"You know this Rick person in real life, do you not?" she said. "You cannot avoid him forever. I suggest you make up sooner rather than later. And by the way, you forgot-"

Morty scowled, strode to the edge of the island, and stepped off into the void before she could finish that sentence.

* * *

 

He was on his hands and knees, forehead pressed into a pile of soft pillows as something thick and fleshy teased his puckered hole from behind, the tip just barely pushed through.

"F-fuuuuh," he moaned out, eagerly pressing himself backwards against it. "Put it in."

It pulled away. Morty frowned and pushed himself back further.

"Come on," he said, attempting to turn his head back to get a better look at the figure behind him only for a hand to come down on his head and push his face back into the sheets. "Mmph!"

Still not deterred, Morty reached blindly behind him, as though he would somehow be able to locate his target and force it in. His palm met the smooth, somewhat-wrinkled flesh of a person's arm, and he grinned.

"Stop teasing, Rick," he breathed. "Come on. Just- _ah!"_

He opened his mouth and bit down on the pillow as, in one quick thrust, his anal virginity was taken from him. Muffled moans flowed from his throat in waves as he was pounded into from behind, each thrust pushing him steadily closer to orgasm.

"Y-yeah," he gasped, raising his head again now that the hand was no longer pushing his head down. "Rick, _grandpa!_ Yes!"

He turned his head, eager to see his grandfather rutting into him.

What he got instead was something out of a nightmare.

"DAD?" shrieked Morty, horrified beyond all measure. He wasn't sure it was even possible for a boner to wilt as fast as his just had. Jerry just winked at him. _"Get the fuck out of me!"_

"What?" said Jerry. "It's just a little incest, right, son? I mean, this is how you were willing to make Rick feel, isn't it?"

"I-I-I didn't want him to feel like this!" insisted Morty, struggling to get away. "I-I-I thought he-"

"You thought he liked it?"

Morty flinched at the sound of another voice coming from beneath him. With green cheeks and shaky breath, he turned his head back down to where his mother's naked body lay, her breasts squished beneath his sweaty palms.

"What's wrong, sweetie?" asked Beth. "Isn't this what you wanted?"

Morty screamed.

* * *

 

Morty had never been so relieved to wake up from a wet dream. Well, if one could even _call_ that a wet dream. The memory alone was enough to make him gag.

"Don't think about it, Morty," he whispered to himself, clutching his face with his hands. "Fuck."

That was how he'd made Rick feel. That was how _every last one_ of his sexual advances had registered in Rick's mind. And why wouldn't they? That was the _normal_ reaction!

"Don't think about it," he said again, half-whimpered. "Don't think about it, don't think about it, don't think about it…"

Morty didn't waste any time in getting up and dragging his belongings out of the monster corpse. Frustratingly enough, the egg appeared to have slipped out of his bag in the night, and even though the sun was shining through the trees, the inside of the shell he'd slept in was still incredibly dark.

Fortunately, he now had free night vision. Morty activated this skill and peered around in search of what had become his prized possession, at least until it rotted. Hm. Maybe dragon omelets would prove a tastier source of nutrition than monster gunk.

Aha! There it was. Morty took a few moss strips and carefully pulled it out into the open.

"How'd you slip out?" he wondered aloud. He'd been sure that he set the bag down upright. Maybe he'd kicked it over in his sleep.

_Crack!_

Morty's eyes grew wide. Wait a second…

_Crackle crack!_

As a crack spread across the surface of the egg shell, Morty's mind went into overdrive.

"You're _hatching?"_ he said, looking around in a panic. "Oh shit, oh _shit!"_

He'd been around a lot of hatching eggs, and it wasn't like the movies; real monsters didn't imprint on you and call you 'mommy.' Or if they did, your inherent biological incompatibilities meant they would inevitably injure you in an attempt to latch onto your back with ridiculously sharp claws, or burrow into a kangaroo-style pouch that simply wasn't there.

_Crack!_

All at once, shards of the dragon's shell exploded away from it in all directions, leaving nothing but a tiny, fat lizard with wings too small for its body. Morty was about to scurry backwards when a window popped up:

_Minion Acquired: Baby Dragon._

Oh. Right. This was a game. It didn't have to follow real-world logic. And that meant…

The white dragon yawned and snapped its teeth together, its vibrant golden eyes shining warmly enough to melt the heart of a monster. Morty knelt down to take a closer look, awed by its sheer cuteness. It was almost enough to make him forget what a sick, self-loathing fuck he was.

_Almost._

A small smile began to spread across Morty's face. This dragon, this _adorable_ baby monster that would one day grow up to be a fearsome killing machine, was all his.

"I can work with this," said Morty softly. The dragon rolled onto its back, its forked tongue hanging out like a dog. "But I'm definitely not going to name you, because then I'll become too attached to send you off into battle."

The dragon wiggled around, clearly struggling to get back onto its feet.

"Okay, never mind, not-not naming you is definitely not gonna be enough to stay coldly detached," admitted Morty to no one in particular. "So I might as well call you something, right? How about…"

Hm. He really didn't want to have a repeat of Morty Junior, so that was right out, and he really didn't want to think about Rick, so Rick Junior was also a bad idea. Damn it, why was he so bad at coming up with original names?

"Drago? Draggy? Drake?" said Morty, furrowing his brow. "Wait, are-are you even a boy?"

He picked up the dragon and raised it over his head to check, exposing its pale blue belly.

"Yeah, I-I-I have no idea what that's supposed to be," said Morty, lowering the dragon, whose tongue rolled out the side of its mouth.  Its bright golden eyes sparkled with adoration. Maybe he'd just name it after a famous dragon, like…

Huh. Now that he thought about it, there weren't a whole lot of famous dragons that he knew off the top of his head. Mushu? Definitely not; he'd endured enough Mulan and Szechuan sauce references for a hundred lifetimes. Seeth the Scaleless? No, that just made him think of the teasing he'd endured from Rick and Summer in his efforts to kill that stupid thing. Spike? Oh, HELL no; Rick would never let him live that one down. Surely there was one nice dragon that wasn't from a children's show or a movie he was sick of.

"Falkor," decided Morty at last. After everything that had gone wrong for him thus far, this was a much-needed windfall. "What do you think?"

The dragon belched out a quick burst of flame. Morty quickly set it back down on the ground so he could attempt to put it out, it was too late; the leaf overalls that Rick had put together for him had ignited.

He really should have known better than to let himself get optimistic.

_"Shit!"_ cursed Morty in a panic.

He did his best to smother the flame with his hands as it rapidly advanced down the 'straps' to the shorts, shouting and gasping with pain as he did so, but it was no use. Searing agony spread across his flesh as it burned. With the fire approaching his groin, Morty hastily ripped off his doomed attire and tossed it onto the ground, leaving him butt-naked once more.

"Phew," he breathed, turning back around to face the dragon. For a moment, he came very close to barking out a lengthy string of insults, but as Falkor stared up at him with its big, clueless eyes, his anger quickly dissipated, replaced by irritation. He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. It was fine; Falkor would prove to be a net asset in the future. "You're lucky I'm not Rick, or-or-or you'd be in a whole lot of trouble right now!"

Morty frowned. Less than twenty-four hours into his own self-imposed exile, and he was already lonely enough to talk to a newborn animal like it had the intelligence of a human being. Usually it took at _least_ a week of total isolation before he started to go mad.

He leaned down and picked Falkor back up to cradle in his arms like a human baby. Irritated as he was about the destruction of his clothing, it was just too cute to resist babbling at and fawning over.

"Who's gonna help me conquer the server? You are!" he cooed, nuzzling its face. Its glittering scales were like snake skin, a pleasant texture to hold and pet. "You-"

Morty sniffed the air. Smoke?

He turned his attention down to his burning pants, only to jump back and cry out in alarm as he realized that the flames had spread to the surrounding underbrush. In a desperate effort to once again smother them before they grew, he directed a leaf barrage at the flames, but whoever had designed the fire spread mechanics in the game, at least for dragon flame, had gone way overboard; it wasn't long before entire trees were up in flame. Morty was beginning to see why it had taken less than a day for the dragons on the other mountain to turn the entire surrounding forest into charcoal.

"Well, uh, time-time-time to go," said Morty. With Falkor tucked in one arm, oblivious to the devastation he'd wrought, Morty grabbed his bag and raced off into the wilderness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter title that makes a Spongebob reference, I promise. Maybe.
> 
> As usual, feel free to leave honest criticism in the comments. :3 I'm gonna try to get back on the schedule of once every two weeks, but since this is looking like a tough semester, I'm not gonna make any promises.
> 
> In slightly better news, I've actually done a rough outline of the main events of the rest of the chapters, so I actually have some idea as to how much longer this is gonna be! It may or may not be exact, depending on how long these scenes end up actually being, but it's something, right?


	10. We're Not Cavemen, We Have Technology

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I've been super backed up with homework this past couple weeks. :( Slowly making progress, though! In case anyone needs a brief recap, an angsty, heartbroken Morty has decided to up and leave Rick, taking the egg he acquired earlier with him in the process. The egg hatched into a baby dragon, and now...

"Let me make one thing clear," said Morty as he paced back and forth in front of the dragon. Why? Dramatic effect, of course. "We're- I'm not gonna tolerate insubordination, understand? This isn't some cute little fantasy film where the main character spends half the movie refusing to take full advantage of what they have. That means that training starts _now."_

The dragon gurgled and rolled onto its side, its eyes crossed and mouth agape.

"Oh no you don't!" said Morty, nudging Falkor back onto his feet. "You-you can nap when I say so!"

The dragon whined.

"Look, I don't have time for-for-for cutesy shenanigans. This isn't some cozy little slice of life, Falkor! We have to- Wait, what are my goals, again?"

Morty chewed his lip. He hadn't really thought that far ahead. Jesus, was he really so used to just going along with whatever Rick came up with that he hadn't even begun to think of a game plan of his own? Was he _that_ helpless?

No. No! He was more than Rick's sidekick! He was his _right-hand man._ There were plenty of times that he'd been forced to improvise in order to survive. Morty took a moment to smack himself back into reality, an action that had Falkor staring at him quizzically.

All that being said, however, Morty was still at a loss when it came to some concrete goal to pursue. In real life, it was usually pretty obvious. 'Survive until Rick shows up.' 'Get the thing that Rick wants.' 'Distract a monster so Rick can do something.' 'Save Rick from certain doom.' Rick, Rick, Rick. Damn it, who was he kidding? His life practically revolved around his grandfather. Stupid, dumb, _lying_ Rick, who'd shattered his heart and danced across the fragments. Morty balled his hands into fists.

"Damn it," said Morty, falling to his knees. Falkor waddled up to him and placed his chin on Morty's lap. "It still hurts. I-I-I keep trying not to think about it, but-"

He took a deep, shuddering breath and wiped away the tears that threatened to slide down his cheeks. Crying didn't solve anything.

"I just want it to stop," he said, absent-mindedly petting Falkor's head. "Uhg, this is all Rick's stupid fault! I _hate_ that fucking asshole! I wish I could just-"

Morty paused.

"I know what we're gonna do," said Morty, a vengeful grin spreading across his face.

Morty set Falkor down and got to his feet. He picked a stick up off the ground and waved it in front of Falkor's face to ensure that he had the dragon's attention before continuing:

"Lesson number one!" said Morty. He began drawing an oval in the dirt, followed by some spikes at the top for hair. Inside the oval, he drew a crude frowny face with a V-shaped unibrow. "You see this? This is the _enemy."_

Falkor strode up to Morty's dirt-based rendition of Rick and stared at it for a long moment before turning his attention back to Morty.

"You want to know why?" said Morty. "It's because he's-he's a fucking lying asshole, that's why." He glared down at the drawing. "And do you know what we- what _I_ do to lying assholes?"

Morty took the stick he was holding and stabbed it straight through Dirt Rick's eye.

"So yeah. That's-that's basically my entire plan," said Morty. "Get stronger, get-get-get tools, and go kick Rick's bony old ass! Any questions?"

Falkor raised his leg and let loose a torrent of urine on Dirt Rick's face.

"Yes! Now you're getting it!" said Morty, rubbing his hands together gleefully.

Before, Morty had attempted to quell his misery by simply ignoring it until it went away. However, much like the pink elephant paradox, trying _not_ to think of something only made him think about it even more. With that unhealthy coping mechanism thrown out the window, it was time to try something new; drowning out his depression with anger. It felt far better to be angry than sad, and if it _felt_ better, then it was probably healthier. Go logic! Logic born of a messy home life involving parents who'd divorced and gotten back together at least five times, in addition to a sexy-yet-emotionally-distant grandfather with a god complex, yes, but _logic nonetheless!_

"That's right…" muttered Morty, fists clenched. "If-if-if I can't have him, I'll just _kill him!"_

Of course, much like writing a novel, it was easy to _say_ you were going to get around to it eventually, and far harder to actually buckle down and follow through. Virtual reality or not, killing Rick Sanchez would be no easy task. If he was really going through with this, he would need a plan. The _easiest_ way would probably be to pretend to crawl back to Rick with his tail between his legs and stab him in his sleep, but that wasn't what Morty wanted, oh no. This wasn't a matter of simply killing Rick. He wanted to see the look of shock and embarrassment on his grandfather's face when he realized that Morty had gotten the better of him.

"This is gonna be tough," said Morty, pressing his thumb to his lips. In a battle of straight up intelligence, Rick was the clear victor. As far as strategy and trickery went, Rick had a clear advantage. The most realistic option was a brute force approach, and even that put him at a disadvantage; Rick was physically stronger than him both online and off.

So he didn't have the brains, and he didn't have the strength. How else did you win a fight?

Morty grinned. "You know, Rick- He's got me beat in a lot of places, but I-I do have _one_ thing he doesn't have."

Falkor mewled questioningly.

"I can talk to people for longer than five minutes without insulting them and pissing them off," said Morty.

That was it. His ticket to victory would not be smarts or strength, it would be sheer _numbers._ He would make as many allies and magical minions as he could muster and Zerg Rush the shit out of Rick's mountain, because for as brilliant as he was, Rick was absolutely garbage at teamwork. Even if he managed to swallow his pride long enough to scrape together some allies to make up for Morty's absence, it would be a dysfunctional group at best.

With a plan established, all that remained was to find some suckers- err, _friends_ to group up with. What was the best way to go about attracting the attention of other players?

He directed his attention back down to Falkor, who appeared to be sniffing a mushroom that Morty recognized as an _intensely_ psychoactive hallucinogen. He quickly snatched the dragon up into his arms before it chowed down.

"Come on, Falkor, I'm gonna need your help with this."

* * *

 

"Okay, boy, now light it up!"

Falkor stared at the giant, carefully-isolated stack of kindling that Morty had put together and drooled. Brow furrowed, Morty picked up the dragon and shook it like a living spray bottle. That seemed to do the trick, and Falkor belched out a stream of flame that instantly ignited into a massive bonfire.

Morty did a quick perimeter-check to make sure nothing was likely to venture outside of the pit he'd dug out before placing Falkor on his head and scrambling up into one of the trees. The smoke was bound to draw somebody in. All that was left to do was wait for someone to take the bait.

He waited. And waited. And _waited._ Fortunately, it wasn't as bad as it might have been in real life; now that he knew how to call Zeta out in-game, he could just browse videos and articles to pass the time while Falkor napped in his arms. Morty opted to spend this time looking through guides and trying to get a better sense of the game's mechanics.

Morty hummed. Wait, hadn't he met with some streamers earlier? How were they doing? Out of equal parts curiosity and boredom, he decided to pull up the video.

 _"To those of you just joining us now, some idiot camping in the woods has just lit another fire,"_ said Airlock, the Traflorkian that Morty had held hostage earlier. Wait a second… _"You can see the smoke from crazy far. We're gonna go in and see if we can't take all his stuff."_

 _"You think this is the same one who started the forest fire earlier?"_ asked Blingo Blongo, the Blamph with the centaur perk.

 _"Probably,"_ said Airlock. _"Not sure if this guy is a dumbass, or just a pyromaniac troll, but one way or another, he's going down!"_

Morty shut down the video and sighed. Not exactly the kinds of people he'd hoped to attract, but beggars couldn't be choosers. He readied his bola, a weapon made of interconnected vines with heavy rocks tied to the ends designed to be thrown so as to entangle whatever it hit.

For supposed experts, the streamers were almost comically noisy as they approached. At the very least, they seemed to have the basics of an ambush down; Morty watched with mild interest as they noisily split up to surround what they believed to be a campsite.

Airlock was the first to fuck up. He jumped out into the open with a sword drawn, but before he could speak, the ground gave out beneath him, and he plummeted to the bottom of the pitfall that Morty had hidden underneath a carpet of dead leaves and moss. From there, things quickly descended into chaos.

"Airlock!" cried Blingo Blongo, charging out and nocking an arrow in her bow. She wisely managed to step around the second, admittedly conspicuous pitfall trap, but was quickly brought down when Morty tossed his bola over her torso, which wrapped around her arms and bound them to her chest. Her grip on her weapon slipped, and the arrow she'd nocked went flying into the fire. GlorpDieBlorp, the Garblovian recording the footage, began to turn around in a vain effort to escape. Morty set Falkor down, jumped down from his branch, and landed on GlorpDieBlorp's back, whereupon he looped a vine around his neck and tightened it until his panicked struggling weakened. Only when he finally collapsed, barely conscious, did Morty painstakingly drag him back out into the clearing where Airlock was leaping for the edges of the pit and Blingo Blongo was struggling to untangle her arms.

"Woah, is that the Morty Smith from before?" said Blingo Blongo upon noticing him.

"Wait, _what?"_ said Airlock, unable to see anything from inside the pit. "Oh, not _that_ asshole again! Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Gagaah…" was all GlorpDieBlorp could say through tired, hacking coughs as he struggled to catch his breath.

"Stay calm, I don't- I'm not going to hurt you," said Morty. Well, not as long as they cooperated, anyway. He was still pretty cranky from the whole heartbreak thing, and his nigh-bottomless supply of patience for Rick's bullshit didn't translate over to three strangers who'd attempted to rob him earlier.

"I'm _completely calm!"_ screamed Airlock from the pit.

"You can hurt me, if you want," said Blingo, a little too eagerly.

"Uh…" began Morty. Was he just a magnet for weirdos? "I, uh, I- Look, long story short, my grandpa and I are, well, we're taking a little break from each other right now. I need to team up with some people, and I was wondering if I could join you guys."

 _"Join_ us?" said Airlock, only to let loose a very deliberate, very condescending laugh. "What, so you can have your five minutes of internet fame by piggybacking off our success? Get your own stream, asshole!"

'I don't give a shit about your stupid stream!' Morty wanted to say, but that was the sort of thing Rick would do. He wasn't anything like that; insulting people's livelihoods wasn't what he was here for.

"I'm not asking to be in your stream," Morty assured him. "I just need a team. I'll stay out of the way, if you want, and I-I-I don't mind helping out with tedious stuff, if you need it."

"You can't just 'stay out of the way!' Our viewers see everything GlorpDieBlorp sees!" said Airlock angrily.

"What are you talking about, Airlock?" asked Blingo. "Featuring Morty Smith on our livestream would be _amazing_ for views!"

"Oh, for fuck's sake, he's not even Morty Smith!" insisted Airlock. "Just check the planet in his profile!"

"Yeah," said Morty, crossing his arms over his chest and strolling over to the pit where Airlock remained trapped. "Check it."

Airlock sighed dramatically, but pulled up Zeta to check nonetheless. "Zeta, pull up his profile."

 _"Pulling up profile!"_ chimed Zeta. _"Full name set to private! Username not yet set! Temporary user ID is 'AnxiousCucumber!' "_

Morty balked. Why did he always get the worst automatically generated names? He'd have to make it a point to fix that later.

_"Biological sex is 'male!' Gender is 'male!' Species is 'human!' Home planet is 'Earth!' "_

Airlock paused.

"That doesn't prove anything!" said Airlock. "Anyone can download software to change their location!"

"Then what _would_ prove it?" asked Morty, careful to hide his exasperation.

"Tell us something only Morty Smith would know!" said Blingo Blongo.

"If I'm the only one who knows it, how-how-how would you know if it's true or not?" asked Morty.

"Oh, I'm already convinced; I just wanna know all your secrets," giggled Blingo Blongo, scooting closer. Morty edged away as she did so.

"My cousin's friend's uncle met Morty Smith once!" said Airlock. "If you knew him, that'd prove it!"

"Do you know how many people I've met?" said Morty, his annoyance beginning to leak through his words. "I-"

"He always wears a tacky sweater with print that looks like a jacket, but isn't really a jacket."

Morty rolled his eyes. "Oh, yeah, I-I _totally_ remember him. Wasn't he, like, the one with-with the _pants?"_

"That's it! That's him!" said Airlock. Morty blinked. He hadn't expected his sarcastic comment to work. "He's _always_ wearing pants! Holy shit, you _are_ the real Morty Smith!"

"Called it!" said Blingo Blongo. "Now let's see what the chat wants! Anyone mind untangling me?"

Morty reluctantly reached over and began unwinding the bola from around her arms. Blingo pulled up Zeta and navigated to the live chat of their stream, then turned to the barely-conscious GlorpDieBlorp to address the audience directly:

"So what do you guys think? Should we feature the real, genuine Morty Smith?"

A flurry of responses began popping in far too fast to actually read them all, but most of them appeared to be something along the lines of 'fuck yes.'

"That settles it!" said Blingo, shutting off her browser. "Welcome to the crew, Morty Smith!"

"You-you can just call me Morty," said Morty awkwardly. Why were they all using his last name? Oh, right, because that was what you did when you referred to famous people. It wasn't just Jan, it was Jan Michael Vincent. It wasn't just Marilyn, it was Marylyn Monroe.

Morty bit his tongue, urging himself not to end up like his father by allowing this to go to his head.

"Whatever you say, Morty Smith," said Blingo, turning back to GlorpDieBlorp. "For those of you just joining now, yes, you heard that right; we just got the real, the _factual,_ one-hundred-percent _actual Morty-fucking-Smith_ on the team!"

"Gagga blagh blagh!" said GlorpDieBlorp, who appeared to have regained enough of his faculties to stand back up on his own. "Blagh! Gagga blagh!"

"Oh, yeah, great idea, GlorpDie!" said Blingo. "We can interview him on the way back to base! Come on, team!"

The two of them began marching off into the distance while an irritated Airlock continued scrambling to exit the pitfall trap. Morty dropped down into the hole, plucked him up, and jumped back out, a feat made easy by his Dire Rabbit perk.

"Put me down!" demanded Airlock, and Morty set him down on the ground. "Look here, just because you're Morty Smith, it doesn't mean you're one of us!" That was fine, he really didn't give a shit. "I'm the leader of this crew, and you do what I say, when I say!" So basically what he had going on with Rick, only under a far less competent leader. Yeah, no, Morty was definitely going to be taking this operation over as soon as humanly possible. "Understand?"

For the moment, Morty just smiled and nodded.

"What you say, when you say. Got it," said Morty, lifting his arm out like a perch and turning his gaze back up to the tree where he'd left Falkor. "Falkor! Come on, we're-we're leaving!"

The baby dragon spread its wings and hopped off of the branch, gliding clumsily downwards and latching onto Morty's arm.

"Holy _fuck,_ is that a _dragon?"_

* * *

 

Morty was beginning to understand why celebrities tried to avoid the public.

"So what's it like to be an intergalactic fugitive?" asked Blingo.

"Uh, tiring? I guess?"

"Glaagablaaga blagh blagh?" asked GlorpDieBlorp.

"Yeah, we- I've been to Glaagablaaga a couple times. It's, uh, the scenery is pretty nice."

"How many people have you killed?" asked Blingo.

Morty pursed his lips. What the hell kind of a question was that? "Uh…"

"Blagh blagh!"

"What? No, humans don't have a second asshole! What-what- Why would you even ask that?" said Morty.

"Why do you worship kangaroos?" asked Blingo Blongo.

"We don't!" Morty said before hesitating. _Was_ there a country where that was a thing? "At least, not where I live."

"Gaggablagh blagh?"

"The Emerald Centurion?" repeated Morty. "Wait, you- do you mean the Statue of Liberty?"

"Do you have any kids?" asked Blingo Blongo.

Morty opened his mouth to answer honestly, only to rethink that decision. They didn't really need to know about Morty Junior, right? "No?"

 _"Do you want some?"_ asked Blingo Blongo, far too eagerly.

What the fuck had he gotten himself into?

At long last, they reached what appeared to be a crevice in a rocky wall. A cave? The others squeezed themselves inside, and Morty took a moment before following. He distinctly remembered Rick telling him that they couldn't live inside a cave, but he was a bit fuzzy on the 'why.' Cave spiders? Toxic gases?

Oh, right, of course. It was because he needed sunlight for his tr-

His _tree!_

_"Fuck."_

"Something wrong?" said Blingo Blongo.

He'd left it behind. His very life force was tied to that tree, and it was in the clutches of the man he planned on murdering!

"No!" lied Morty as he followed them into the cave, hoping they wouldn't bring it up. How the hell had he forgotten something like that? Was that what Moonshine was attempting to tell him as he walked out on her? _Shit!_ If Rick found out what he was up to, all he had to do was rip it up and snap it in two! What had seemed a nigh-impossible task before was only being made worse by this terrible revelation.

Falkor squirmed in his arms, perhaps sensing his discomfort. Morty stroked his head, an act that was as much to calm his own nerves as it was to calm the dragon's.

"Well, welcome to headquarters!" said Blingo Blongo. Morty didn't envy the way her centaur body forced her to duck and tread carefully along the rocks.

In an effort to make his frustration and self-loathing a little less obvious, Morty took a look around the cave. It wasn't particularly large, but nor was in terribly small. A fire pit sat at the center, ventilated by a small opening on the ceiling of the cave that was bound to let in the rain if the weather got bad. Three fur sleeping rolls of identical size sat off to the side despite the occupants being of wildly varying sizes, and a disorganized heap of random resources, some more useful than others, lined the opposite wall beside a crafting table.

"If you wanna go craft yourself a bedroll, I'm sure we've got some pelts in the pile somewhere," said Blingo Blongo. "It should be enough for a crafting spell. I think."

Morty's eyes glanced over some of the animal pelts. They actual quality of the skinning job was superb; there was nary a nick to be had. And yet…

"Is this a bozzleborb pelt?" he asked, lifting up a fluffy, bright yellow and red sheet of fur. "Aren't-aren't they usually bigger than this?"

"Crafting spells take away some of the usable material. Duh," said Airlock, who apparently still had some meaningless dick-swinging to do. Just once, Morty wished he could hang out with someone who _didn't_ have some kind of complex about proving how amazing they were all the time. Honestly, how were these people even getting views? Did people just enjoy watching assholes be assholes? Who the hell would derive entertainment out of the zany adventures of a person who treated everyone around him like garbage, including his better-by-comparison-but-still-pretty-awful companions? Seriously, Blingo Blongo had seemed pretty harmless at first, but it was pretty clear that she also had a few screws loose. Morty wasn't sure if Airlock was acting as a corrupting influence, or if she'd just been fucked up in the head from the start, but there was something about her that made him very uncomfortable.

Morty took a deep breath. Whatever, he'd slept in the same room as far bigger lunatics than these. Dealing with weirdos was hardly his biggest concern right then. The important thing was to ingratiate himself to these people as soon as possible. That, and trying to figure out what to do about the whole forgetting-his-tree thing.

"Do-do-do you guys have a needle and thread?" asked Morty.

"What for?" asked Blingo Blongo.

Morty's brow furrowed. "Uh, to sew?"

"Sew?" said Airlock. "What, like cave people?"

Morty shot him a disbelieving look. "Okay, uh, first of all, we're in a cave _right now."_

"Cut him some slack, Airlock. Earth is a developing planet, remember?" said Blingo Blongo, bopping Airlock on the head. "They don't have outfit printers and self-repairing clothing yet."

"Oh, come on, there's no way Rick Sanchez and Morty Smith are from a planet without outfit printers!" said Airlock. "Next thing you'll be trying to tell me is that they're still riding around in ground-bound cars with legs!"

"Glagga blagh!" said GlorpDieBlorp.

"Wait, are you shitting me right now, Glorp?" said Airlock. "They're still on _wheels?"_

Morty quietly groaned. Maybe he would have been better off doing this alone, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! If you would kindly take the time to leave your thoughts in the comments, I would really appreciate it! Not to toot my own horn, but I think I've been handling criticism pretty darn well so far, so don't hesitate to provide honest feedback! <3
> 
> Also, remember when I promised no more Spongebob references as chapter titles? Yeah. I lied. Sorry, not sorry.


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